Angel's Vigilante Agency: The Stone of Jarakhara
by jilligor
Summary: AU world called Enigami & crossovers, M/M, touch of het, language, some characters may be recognized as people but I omitted surnames to keep it fictional. Comedy with eventual angst. Angel runs an independent agency of miscreants with supernatural power.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is only my second time posting a story on here - the first was forgotten rather quickly (though if you like "Queer as Folk," look around for jilligor's "Glorious" and let me know if you'd like me to upload the remainder of the story - it's finished, though soppy wet with emotion and a bit too "fluffy" for my taste...though it does contain some graphic slashy scenes and such). I hope this one does a bit better, preferably that it just gets NOTICED! Please read and review! I have seven chapters written so far, and if others would like, I'll happily upload the following ones later. Yes, these characters - even the ones with "familiar" names - are all FICTIONAL. Despite what you may think if you recognize some names.... It's pure fantasy, AU, on another planet, and has nothing to do with any of the people/characters/creators of those characters or series and such. I get nothing from this except the feeling of having done something productive - and hopefully the sensation of others' virtual enjoyment.

Therefore, ENJOY!

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency": The Stone of Jarakhara **

**CHAPTER ONE**

Spike

I watch furtively – no, make that with extreme exasperation – from the doorway to the Artifacts Room, arms over my chest and dust still lingering in my now slightly mussed hair. It's usually plastered down perfectly to my head, as I prefer, but after _this_ ridiculous incident, it's gone all frayed and scattered on me – even turning my typical white into a musty gray, so I look closer to one of my brunette counterparts than I'd like to admit – though otherwise he's a rather dashing sort of fellow (nevermind that he's an exact replica of me, having been caught up in some fucked-up flux-warp thingy and ending up in this sodding universe – only to meet _me_, his double – basically what he would have been if he'd been created in this universe in the first place).

As the odd creature perches backwards on a rickety wooden swivel chair, skinny legs in tight-fitting...well, _leggings_, pulled up to his chest and dark eyes studying the object in his pale hands thoroughly, I take a gander at the other two: James (my alter ego personified) and Russell (the Gypsy whose hair had _never_ seen better days despite the hell we'd gone through to find this bloody piece of nuisance that seems worthless to me). They're a bit different – Russell standing taller than most anyone I've ever seen despite his slender frame, which he garbs with random flowing – or sometimes tighter than necessary – half hippie-half tramp type of attire; looks like he crawled out of a dumpster, really; and then there's James, in a plain white (well, off-white now, after our escapade into dirty old caves and dirt-covered landscapes) tee shirt and simple brown leather jacket, torn jeans and plain black boots. Looks like any random person off the street – except, of course, the obviously _striking_ facial features which render him a blatantly gorgeous piece of mankind.

Again, forget that he's my replica; I speak nothing but truth.

Russell, like me, is impatient as the raven-haired enigma continues silently turning the alleged artifact over and over in his hands, black eyes shining as he does his power thingy to "communicate" with it. But instead of lounging lazily against the door frame as I do, Russell paces back and forth rudely in front of the weird bird on the chair, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised in expectation. Dust still flicking off his already filthy-looking clothes.

James, meanwhile, stands just inside the dimly-lit room, leaning with one leg bent and resting a booted foot against the wall behind him, one arm over his chest and the other clutched perpendicular to it, so he can chew on his fingernails in anticipation of the verdict, eyes glued to the inspector of our so-called "prize."

Finally, after a few more tension-sopped moments, Russell heaves a sigh and halts beside Chris, the master of Light and Dark Arts – the strange _Nispar_ who has better and more logical conversations with inanimate objects – like machines and rocks – than with actual _people_.

"Well?" Russell urges impatiently in his choppy, Cockney-esque accent. "Whatchoo reckon?"

The much smaller wisp of a man (whom we seem to have several of lurking about this place, except for this tall bloke with the crazy hair and the Brooding Bastard and his Retard Brother upstairs) crushes our spirits and confirms my previous notion as he hands the object back to Russell.

"It's a rock," he answers in his small, cryptic voice, his strong Utarian accent (basically compared to any European, especially British, with a twinge of another country in there, like his slight Germanic mix) just making it sound all the more preposterous – no matter how quietly he utters it.

Russell holds out his arms, eyes like saucers; James literally bites off a chip of nail and winces; I sigh heavily and look to the ceiling, arms dropped to my sides.

"A _rock?"_ Russell repeats, bewildered. "A bloody _rock?_"

"Not so bloody, actually," Chris quips as he spins in his chair – still perched like a bird – and reaches for a book from the enormous shelf beside him, which is filled not only with books older than Angel's great-great-great-great-gran, but various objects in protective bottles and cases labeled with curious handwriting, some smudged and some crystal clear, some in English, some in Utarian, some both. He slips an enormous volume out and rests the spine on the top of the chair frame. "Just a bit dusty." And he practically winks up at me with that slight smirk he knows irks me so much – because it means he's bemused at our – _my_ – expense.

"So what're you sayin'?" I demand harshly as I stomp over to Russell and snatch the block of useless crumbling _rock_ out of his hand, brandishing it over the blithe _Nispar_ as he pages delicately through the book which looks just about as old as that tyrannical bastard upstairs who _ordered _us on this stupid assignment in the first place. "You sayin' this ain't the effing Boulder of Jamakahollah we were s'posed to find!? After all that work!?"

Chris spins back to face us squarely, but demurely, and turns the book to our view, pointing out the picture with a dainty finger.

"What you found could be what you said, though I still think it's just a rock," he goes on in that voice just above a whisper. "But neither is it the _Stone_ of _Jarakhara_ you were sent to fetch. Funny that Angel wouldn't have thought to show you what it looked like first. The Stone you seek is..." And here he peers up at me, an uncharacteristic exasperation in his black eyes. "...a _stone_. Not a boulder – not a _rock_. But a _stone_. Small and delicate."

I feel like smashing the thing over his head, with the way he says it so condescendingly, even if _he's_ the one looking _up_ at _us_. But this one's not my problem – he's just a pawn. And with that nearly flippant remark about Angel not thinking to _show_ us what we were looking for, as if it were an afterthought even to Chris... Well, that just sends my blood boiling even hotter. But Chris really has no connection to this, except that we were to check with him the validity of our findings upon our return.

The _validity_...

So I restrain myself – without needing the usual peep out of my "guardian" just over my shoulder if he thinks my reactions are... melodramatic, let's say.

No. I'll save my violence for its _true_ recipient.

The other two let out groans of their own as I turn back to the open door, rock firmly in my hand like a mighty battle armament ready to take the life of the prick who sent us off on this pointless mission.

As I swagger irritably out the door, the others following behind me with utterings of their own agonies (Russell fussing about his "hair," despite my opinion that it's an improvement from usual; James pleading for me to tone it down a bit), Chris calls from the Artifacts Room, "You might want to look a bit closer next time. It's more like a gem stone. Hence the title _`stone.'_ Take Noel with you – he has a uniquely keen sense for finding shiny things."

But I barely retain the advice as I climb the staircase in the middle of the lobby, plodding up to the Misery Guardian's looming office just at the top.

He wanted a rock? Well, he's gonna get one.

Noel

I ain't all into all this writing bollocks, but thought I'd give it a go. Julian keeps braggin bout the novels he's workin on between work – I've yet to see page one and he's usually mucking about with his guitar instead at home – but I still don't need him one-uppin me, yeah? So I thought, why not?

I narrowly dodge the sharpy-edge rock in Spike's hand as I cross past the door to Angel's office and duck, but there's no apology whilst I reel out the way and he kicks in the thing with his foot. Only glances I get are a sympathetic one from James and a wink and smile from Russell as they follow "the leader" inside. Before I reach Sendhil's office door there's sounds of shouting and chaos – till James has the sense to shut the doors to this "private matter."

So I pop in on Sendhil, whose hair's a bit mussed and eyes glazed from workin all night, and sit on the corner of his desk. We're alone cos James, who shares his office, is in with the others, probably huddled in a corner whilst Spike tries to rip Angel a new one and Angel snarls back, Russell standing there to the side making snide remarks.

But it's quieter in here, whilst Sen flits through papers and books, barely glancin up at me as I play with the ball-clunker thing on his desk.

Minutes pass after my initial "Aw'ight," and he still stays in that mad-paper-investigator stage whilst I sigh and twirl my hair.

Finally he jerks back in his chair and grins, face sweaty and eyes like a mad dog's. He's holdin up a sheet he's been scribblin on with glorious triumph.

"Yes! Got it!" he proclaims, like he's found the eleventh commandment which states we can all ignore the previous ten and just have a good time.

"Got what? The mange?" I pop some chocolate candies from a tin beside the ball-clinker into me mouth and raise me eyebrows.

"The formula!"

"For whu?"

This is when he stands up and, all feverish-like, whips his white lab coat on – he's goin down the lab straight away.

"To stop the process of Mevin's transition into a Firestarter."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, that – y'know, he may be scared n aw, but I seen him havin a few eager go's at flickin a spark for a fag--"

"He doesn't _want_ the curse," Sen reminds me as he gathers some papers and rushes to the door connecting his office to the adjacent one shared by Ju and Zach.

"And what was it he did to make the old witch curse him again?"

Sen pauses, hand on the door, and mumbles somethin I can't make out.

I lean closer. "Wha's at?"

He sighs and glares back at me. "He violated her pet."

But I feel the need to clarify, "He raped her dog. Allegedly."

"Whatever," Sen groans, yanking open the door. "He'll get his punishment – just not one as potentially dangerous for others as being an out-of-control Firestarter." He turns and barks into the other office, "Ju! We got work to do!" He spins back as Julian pulls himself out of his eternal slump from his desk to follow _his_ "leader," and Sen goes on, "He was _cursed_ by a _Purist_, Noel. A Human can barely control dangerous powers Utars were _born_ with, so he doesn't want to be out of control. He's perfectly adept at using a Zippo. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go make the formula to cure this kid before he does something horrible."

"Like setting fire to Fido's _real_ boyfriend?"

Sen gives me a _look_, and he's off, Julian following behind like some loyal pup himself, speakin of dogs. Even goes through Sen's office instead of using his own front door.

As he passes, I quip, "An' you'll stand there 'n watch, will you? Take little notes that you won't understand later?" A cheeky grin on me face as I help meself to more sweets.

At my taunt, Ju's gotta pull himself up straighter and put on his smug face, straightening his suit jacket professionally. "I will be _assisting_ the genius that is Sendhil. Not merely watching. If not for me, his career would be a mess."

"Line up his pens 'n pencils separately, do ya? So he don't mix 'em up?" My tone always seems to come out on the verge of laughter, especially around Ju – dunno why that is.

He looks away, fuming, and ignores me as he leaves.

Meanwhile I catch sight of the other cowering figure in the opposite office, head low but eyes like a lost puppy – no, too many dog references – how about a sweet kitten? A lost sweet pussycat. Anyway, he's peering into Sen's office with that curious but... what's the word? Comp... Complacent... No – contemplative look on his face.

I slip off the edge of the desk and lean against the door frame, still inside Sen's office.

"You could leave 'im a note," I suggest, downing another chocolate. "Just a simple one. `Dinner together tonight?' That sorta thing. I know you can't be anything _but_ subtle."

There's silence behind me, but then Zachary's right beside me in the doorway – his frighteningly looming form only causing me to have to lean me head back to look up at him – ain't like I ain't used to him by now, even if that sauntering he does spooks most people. You should see him scare the shit outta Jen – fuckin hilarious.

"Do you... think that would work?"

His voice is so sweet, this one – wouldn't reckon it, from that enigmatic face with unreadable expressions, may be a bit scary sometimes. But he sounds soft and lovely all the same.

"Maybe a poem," I go on. "Suits you more."

He nods slowly, yearning eyes straying to the haphazardly paper-covered desk Sen's just vacated. If Ju's doin anythin to keep this "genius" organised, it ain't showin right now.

"Just don't let Ju know – he'll try to take over and ruin the whole thing. Make you sound like some sorta stalker freak."

Zach turns back, head bent down to catch my gaze. He looks very serious. Very determined.

I hold out a bit of chocolate. "Sweet?"

He considers, then accepts.

As he lets the sugar dissolve over his tongue (as opposed to my obnoxious chomping), I nudge his side with a fashionably attired leather jacket elbow.

"You're too lovely, y'know?"

He smiles shyly, tries to hide it, but I catch it anyway.

"You gotta have more confidence, mate. Here, you been workin on that paintin I suggested?"

He swallows thickly and invites me inside the office to unveil the cleverly hidden easel in the closet opposite the door joining to Sen's. Ju probably never even noticed there _is_ a closet in here. Seems too distracted by something else to pay attention to most things, especially when I'm around – and I usually am. Probably cos I put him on edge with my insults. But it's better Ju don't know – better for Zach to utilise, as he's found his passion for painting but is too timid to share it with anyone but a bona fide _Avaraura_ like meself. Guess he figures if anyone's got a valid opinion, it's me, purely by bloodline alone. Either that or he just likes me enough.

I nod approvingly as he flicks on the dim bulb overhead and pulls the black veil back.

"It's not finished--"

"Well, no, but well on halfway," I assure him. "Gorgeous, Zach – think it's lovely as you." I snag his collar and jerk him down for a peck on the cheek, startling him – dunno why, I do it all the time – and gesture to Sen's half-coloured, alluring (and quite realistic-looking) form.

"Better watch it with the lower half, though, eh? Go too far, might as well let Ju write the bloody rapist poem anyway." A thought occurs to me and I gape up at him. "Unless... you actually _have_ been stalkin' 'im..."

Zach rolls his eyes – then sets them on me and admits rigidly, "Of course I have."

I blink, nodding again. "Oh yeah. I knew that."

Angelina

I'm not sure how I get talked into some of these things, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with his sly little _Szeduszair_ powers – he rarely uses them, he tells me, and he's not even interested in me (let alone any woman at all), so I know it's not that. It must just be because he's a genuinely sweet boy who tries to look at life and love everyone, despite teasing the majority into finding him charming. He has no Utar powers of persuasion either, so it must just be that charm that I'm not immune to that has me sitting with Noel in the tiny cafe set off to the side on the first floor for employees to have meals. And while he stirs his untouched tea and I sip at my straight black coffee, not even my (admittedly) naturally sultry eyes can sway me into the belief that he's the least bit interested.

Not that I want him to be, of course. Honestly – the kid's more like a little brother I always want to either protect or scold. Or just pull his immaculately beloved hair (the lengths that boy goes to is like a female to keep his hair _just so_ – meaning "just so scattered and unkempt," really, but it's much nicer than most others' around here).

But he came to me quite urgently this morning to lure me into having a cup of tea (coffee for me, of course) with him in order to talk about some very important business. Interrupted my hard and steady work on a case wherein I am attempting to find some suitable temporary homes for three suddenly orphaned Utar children whose parents were horrifically murdered by Purist Humans just days ago, Purists who were intent on leaving their mark on this world – a gruesome mark of the ongoing strife and wars between the two races...

All the while, as Angel and anyone in this independent agency will tell you, there are plenty of _other_ dangers and threats around to worry about whose race is superior. Personal opinion? We can both be exquisite in our own ways – as well as disgustingly vile at the same level. I am in no position to proclaim myself better or worse than anyone else.

Which is what I keep telling myself as Noel rattles on to me about this "very important issue," as I keep having that niggling feeling that I have more important things to do than argue with this... this... Oh, I might as well say it: this _freak_ over something that could very well be as ludicrous as it sounds.

"But you see, the problem with the witches – nevermind they're not actual witches, putting down that true title by proudly accepting it from the idiots who call them that, I've met real witches, and they're nothing like these horrid wenches, these flakes are just female Utars who use their powers for evil and curse unsuspecting Humans--"

"Noel," I sigh into my coffee, "the man forced sexual acts on the woman's dog. I hardly think he expected no repercussions, so if you're trying to get the kid off the hook somehow--"

"I'm not! Really, I'm not! But he _wouldn't_ expect anythin', though, would he? In that moment of bliss, you don't really think about that sorta thing--"

"Bliss?" I deadpan, glaring at him through thick eyelashes. "With a dog?"

"Let me finish! Yes, even with a dog! Even if he did expect somethin', it most likely wasn't bein' cursed by some old hag who takes the title of `witch' too far and twists it, playin' up the evil role, cursin' people left 'n right for stupid things like eatin' the carrots in her garden--"

I can't be so subtle anymore. I blurt out in exasperation, "He _fucked_ a _dog_, Noel. Her _pet_."

But not even my stark and crude factual analysis manages to mystify him. "Yeah, I know, but what angle are you goin' for here, 'cos I'm quite confused, I am, 'cos you're whingin' on about the dog, but you're s'posed to be helpin' the _people_--"

"And that boy obviously needs help!" I exclaim, almost laughing as I say it. "After Sendhil removes the curse, he obviously needs severe psychiatric treatment--"

"But why?" Noel persists. "I mean, won't the witch get some kinda punishment for _her_ involvement? That's a harsh reaction after just catchin' a boy bummin' her dog--"

"Of course the woman will be charged with something," I assure him, almost resigned to accept anything he says now, feeling too drained from stopping myself rolling my eyes at every word that tumbles from his lips to fight anymore. "Her actions _did_ put the boy himself _and_ others in danger, and it's pure luck that the boy thought to come to _us_ instead of the police to handle this situation. Whereas she took the other route, which ended up getting _her_ put in jail while we made the agreement with the cops to retain the danger."

"No, you're not getting it!" he continues passionately. "You're all on about the legal shit, yeah, okay, great. But there's a different angle here no one's pointed out yet, so I might as well be the one to do it, so shouldn't she pay a price for her overreaction to witnessing somethin' that could've been true love, though?"

At this, I stop cold, staring at him blankly, as if I haven't just heard the last several words to come from that mouth.

"..._What?"_

His great big blue eyes are set on me, genuine concern in them. Which worries me a bit. "I mean, really, everyone's on about the boy and the witch, but how's the dog feel about all of this? Anyone think to ask _him?_"

I can't help it; I slump in my seat and bow my head, holding it in my hands over my half-full cup of coffee, willing myself not to groan... but I do anyway: "...Noel..."

"C'mon, Ange, y'know I can do it, just let me have five minutes with him--"

I snap my head up to catch his gaze again, reminding him, "The dog is in animal custody while the boy's locked up here and the _woman_ is in police custody."

"So?"

"_So_, if you truly think you can talk to the animal--"

He gives me a warning glance, narrowing his wide eyes, and says seriously, "You know I can."

I hesitate; in my mind, previous incidents flash by, and I have to admit to myself that there is no other explanation than what the kid claims – and why _would_ it be so unusual? Utars can have multiple powers not even in the dozen typical heritages, such as telekinesis and, yes, starting fires with the power of the mind... Why would it be so hard to believe that one can speak with another species?

Fuck – the _Nispar_ race can communicate with blocks of _wood!_

"Okay," I sigh after a long debate within myself, "so you can. _If_ he lets you. But if you want to do that, you'll have to get permission from Angel first, _then_ go to the Animal Recovery Center and get _their _permission – before you even _reach_ the dog himself, who may not even _want_ to talk to you."

He nods confidently – almost too cocky, really. "Oh, I'll get him to talk to me, all right, don't you worry about that..."

I lean in closer, pleading with him pitifully, "But Noel, why is it such a big deal to you? I don't see how anyone else will take you seriously--"

"Angel knows my ability!" he persists. "Maybe he doesn't want to admit it so easily, but I _know_ he knows."

I shake my head, desperately wanting to get back to my orphan housing work now. "But the reasoning behind it is the ridiculous part."

"Not so ridiculous for creatures of different races to fall in love, happens all the time! How d'ya think Halfies are made!?"

"_Races_, Noel – yes. _Species_ – I doubt it."

"But there's still the argument that Humans and Utars are separate _species_ as well, y'know, and their breeding doesn't seem to have much of a bad vibe to it – unless you're a Purist who thinks one's corrupting the other, which has no proof--"

"They're both Humanoid, or Utarian, in physical, physiological nature, Noel. It makes more _sense_ than two different... _animals_ besides those two to procreate--"

"Who said anythin' 'bout procreatin'? Maybe they just like fuckin'!"

Now I can't hold back and let my gaze float to the ceiling. "For gods' sake..."

"No really!" he exclaims. "I read about it, a man marryin' his goat 'cos they were in love – an' that was from _centuries_ ago!"

Startled, my attention flicks back down to him, eyes wide.

At the curious look on my face, Noel squints and curls in on himself. "What?"

I blink, shaking my head. "Uh, nothing... It's just..." I clear my throat, confessing apologetically, "I never knew you could read."

He purses his lips, saying sheepishly, "Well... takes a bit a' time, but... It was a magazine article I felt worthy of my attention."

I peer at him quizzically; I almost expected him to say it'd been from a pamphlet.

"Noel?"

He lifts his head again and gives me that sweet smile again. "Yeah, Ange?"

I glance away, sipping at my cooled coffee. "Next time you want to have coffee with someone, ask for other company."

I can see him wincing in my peripheral vision. "Oh... But... You don't like me?"

I turn back to him and offer my own dazzling grin, reaching across the table to pat his head. "I'm kidding, dear. You're just a bit... eccentric."

He furrows his brow. "Oh... That's good, though, yeah?"

I nod slowly as I stand to gather my things – to get back to some real work. "Yes... But some of us have our limits."

Angel

After dealing with Spike and his crew, which resulted in James taking him back downstairs to get get abrasions treated by Sendhil and my brother bringing me an ice pack for my black eye, Seely takes a seat in my chair as I pace and sigh despondently to myself. While Russell lounges carelessly by the closed (slammed) door, Seely starts playing with the knick-knacks on my desk – all left, mind you, by others, not myself.

"So what's the big deal about this Pebble of Jakarta anyway?" he asks, trying to untangle a metal puzzle by sheer force.

"No," Russell attempts to correct, "it's a _stone_. The _Stone_ of _Jackassola_."

"The _Stone_ of _Jarakhara_," I correct – _correctly_. "Why can no one else get it right?"

"Because we were all in special ed, mate," Russell grins. But then that creepy grin fades and is replaced by a cocky expression. "An' why _didn't_ we get a formal introduction to the thing's picture before we left anyway? If y'knew what we were lookin' for, why didn't y'show _us_ what we was s'posed to _be_ lookin' for!? None of us are psychics, mate!"

I sigh again as I pass him in my pacing and explain, "I didn't _know_ there was an actual _picture_ of the stone, okay? And before I had the chance to ask Chris if he was familiar with it, as usual, Spike just took off without waiting and dragged you and James along with him. And what's so important about it – it's not so important that _we_ get it, as much as it's vital that Bainbridge _doesn't_."

"Bainbridge?" Seely laughs, propping his feet up on my desk as he leans back in the cushioned chair. "That crazy old doof? What does he want with it?"

"Who knows?" I utter scathingly. "But whatever he wants it for, it's not likely to be a good thing. If it ends up in the wrong hands..."

"Aw, Bainbridge is just a wanker," Russell rolls his eyes. "Pain in the arse, yeah, but he ain't no danger--"

I stop abruptly and turn to him, my good eye narrowing to warning mode. "Don't underestimate our enemies, Russell. He has connections and power--"

Russell lets out a raspberry. "Connections? You mean that bloody horse-faced pawn broker down Emold Street? He ain't nothin' – in fact, let's just let ol' Bainbridge do the work for us findin' the thing, wait till he oversells it to the cock-off down the road, then nick it from him – he'll never know it--"

I cut him off again by pointing straight at him. "No, _we_ will find the stone first, because Bainbridge's tentacles are reaching further than we suspect now. And I don't want to force anyone in my employment," I add poignantly to the sneering Gypsy, "to revert to old ways of thievery. It's not just bad for your soul, but it's bad reputation for our company – it's hard enough trying to get justified around here as it is, being an independent."

Russell makes a face, but no protest as he silently accepts my order.

On the other hand, Seely looks up at me quizzically. "Did you just say `testicles'? Wish I'd gotten that on tape--"

"_Tent_ac—why am I defending myself to you!?" I blurt out irritably, starting to stomp around again. "Against Spike, against Russell, now _you_ – I don't need this shit, I _own_ this damn company, I _started_ it! I tell you what to do and you _do_ it--"

"Awright, Hitler Two," Russell quips in a Cockney voice. "Wha-evah you say!"

Seely smirks. "Or should we call him Gostly Junior?"

As the other two chuckle away, I whirl around and start to storm out of my office – no use trying to talk sense into idiots.

But just as I've slammed open the doors, there's a beep from my intercom – and that _voice_ crackles through.

"Angel? Mister Angel, are you available?"

It's Jen, my secretary on the first floor. Gods know why I hired her – I forget now, probably a favor for an ex-friend – or losing a bet. I huff and drag myself back to the desk, but Seely's already on it, answering, "What is it, babe?"

I scowl at him; he knows she's got the hots for him, but can't tell us apart (even by the typical "wacky socks" and mismatching ties he wears and my eternally dark wardrobe).

Sounding a bit startled by the endearment, she stammers, "Oh, um, well... There – There's someone here to, uh, see you – he doesn't have an appointment, but he says you should be willing to speak with him--"

And in the background, I can hear the irritated holler of Julian, poor guy, arguing, "I _work_ here, you bloody thick tart, I don't _need_ an appointment to see my own boss! I've worked here five years now and you still act like you don't know me!"

As Seely leans back again and cackles, "Don't let strange freak set foot on the staircase, Jen, he could be a mass murderer--" I snatch the phone from the cradle of the intercom and hear Jen scolding Julian, "I'm sorry, sir, but you don't need to get so worked up, I really have no idea--"

He must grab the phone from her as well, because in the next instant, his voice is at the forefront of the conversation.

"Angel, it's me – _Julian_. I need to speak with you about something and this useless mannequin you put here to stand in for a _real_ secretary insists I need an appointment to see you when I merely asked if you were busy--"

Jen gawking verbally in the background, I assure him, "It's all right, Ju, come on up."

"_Thank_ you." And the phone slams down in my ear.

Before he makes it up to the office, through their giggles, Seely suggests, "You know, you really _should_ get a real secretary to replace her. I mean, _we_ all pretend to forget Julian as a prank, but I think she really doesn't know he works here."

"Last week she mistook him for a bin man," Russell guffaws. "Tried to shuck off her trash on him whilst he just walked by!"

As the two dissolve into their laughter, Julian comes through the open door and I lean back on my desk, ignoring them both. He pauses awkwardly in the doorway, glancing back and forth between the two schoolgirls.

"Okaaaay..."

"Don't mind them," I groan. "They've had too much coffee today. What's wrong?"

Clearing his throat, he steps inside and, wringing his fingers together timidly, tells me, "I, uh, have a favor to ask of you..."

"What kind of favor?" I reply warily; it's not like Julian to ask for favors, so this being his first time...

"It's, uh, really on behalf of someone else," he clarifies. "So just please take that into consideration before you mark _me_ as the moron here..."

I sigh again. "Noted. Who is it? Sendhil? Chris? Angie? They're too busy to ask?"

He winces and turns his head to the side. "Not really..."

I nod at him expectantly to go on.

"It's, um, Noel."

I blink. "_Noel?_"

"Yeah..."

Another man – or "man child," more like – who rarely asks anything of me. Though I suddenly understand why he's sent Julian instead of coming himself, as Noel's rare requests are always a bit... well, _rare_. As in, stupid, or ridiculous, or pointless. But I need to hear this from Julian to confirm it.

"Okay," I urge him cautiously. "And why doesn't Noel come to me himself? He's not nearly as busy as most others here – though probably moreso than _certain_ ones," I add sharply, glaring in turn at the still-giggly twits occupying my office space.

Also noting their remaining presences, Julian steps closer to me, speaking lowly. "He's, um... He doesn't like to admit it, but I believe Noel's a bit... afraid of you."

I gape at him. "`Afraid'? Of _me?_ I've been nothing but nice to that boy from day one – he's never let me down in his assignments, and I've never degraded him. Even if he can be a little weird sometimes, I overlook that because he's been valuable to this company, _and_, yes, I _like_ the kid. He has no reason to be _afraid_ of me--"

"It's your demeanor, bro," Seely points out behind me. "It's in stark contrast with that kid's nature."

Russell nods in agreement. "He's right, y'know. You're all gloom and doom and despair, an' he's all `love life and get laid as much as possible.' Spread the love."

Julian regards him with obvious distaste. "_And_ diseases, I assume, seeing as he must've picked up that _nature_ from you. I believe _that_ load of bollocks is more _your_ bag, Gypsy. You're a bad influence on that boy, you know."

Russell shrugs, accepting it easily – but probably not even hearing, really.

Julian turns back to me and explains, "No, it's just – he knows how smart a man you are, and though he'll deny it – if he's paying attention – he knows he's nowhere near your intellect. So he elected someone of a higher level, let's say – though still nothing close to you--"

I sigh yet again, dropping the ice bag from my eye. "I just got a black eye from Enigami's biggest asshole. I've got my weaknesses. So let's cut the bullshit and get to the favor."

Julian blinks, startled by my appearance and admittance, then clears his throat. "Um..."

"Yeah," Russell leers at him, "quit makin' up lies an' get to it, 'cos we all know you're just Noel's bitch 'cos you fancy him."

At this, Julian stiffens, small eyes suddenly wide – but instead of denying the audacious claim, he blurts out, "He'd like you to write him a formal request to meet with the dog in the Firestarter case."

Seconds tick by of complete silence.

"What?" I ask finally.

The sheepish look on Julian's face proves he knows how absurd it sounds.

"Yeah, he, uh... says he wants to talk to the, uh, victim to find out if it was, um... a true rape."

I can't help it; even with my knowledge of Noel's affinity with animals, I can't believe my ears.

"And he's... not joking?"

Julian scrunches his eyebrows, looking pained. "Afraid not, this time."

Strangely, Seely and Russell are non-plussed. In fact, Russell puts in, "I seen him calm down a cobra once – bloody miracle worker, you ask me..."

Of all the drama, _this_ is what these two take seriously?

"He _did_ talk that cat down from the tree when she tried to commit suicide," Seely tosses in, stroking his chin.

I blatantly balk at them, back and forth, seeing the easy acceptance – no cynicism at all – on the their faces.

Julian, however, growls, "Miss Fuzzy was _not_ suicidal – she was caught in a bloody damn _tree_, that's _all!_"

"Oh yeah," Seely grins. "She was _your_ cat, wasn't she?"

Russell raises his eyebrows. "Talk about gloom – why _does_ he hang out with you so much, especially if you can even drive a _cat_ to attempt suicide?"

"You two live together, in fact," Seely points out. "Are you just balancing each other out? So _you_ don't go jumping out of trees yourself and he doesn't go making best friends with every animal he comes across until he gets raped by a giant rabbit?"

Before I can even give my brother a weird glance, Julian bursts out, "It's a living situation based on pure economic logistics! We can only afford what we have based on what we earn! And she was _not_ suicidal!"

"So you _don't_ fancy him?" Russell teases. "If not, can _I_ have a go? He's quite a catch, that one is--"

I see the figurative daggers in Julian's eyes and decide to end the squabble by whirling around and grabbing some official paper and a pen. I scribble out what I deem as an acceptable request letter and shove it at Julian.

"Here. Take this to Jen and have her type it up. It'll give him access to the Recovery Center and permission to meet with the – the dog."

Julian sighs wearily as he looks at the paper. "This means I have to deal with Jen again," he mumbles, then eyes me up hopefully. "Think you could let her know I'm _expected_ this time?"

"I'll try." I reach for the phone. "But between now and by the time you get down there, I can't promise anything."

He bolts out of the office like a streak of lightning – and Russell and Seely are once more in hysterics.

"What is so _funny?_" I demand.

"Him," Russell answers, thumb jammed in Julian's direction.

"The only person I've seen as sexually repressed for another person," Seely adds, "is Zach and his stalking Sendhil."

I roll my eyes and kick the twats out of my office – like I have time to worry about romantic hearsay when there's actual _work_ to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: That's right! No one asked for it, but here it is! Chapter 2! Please read and review, and check in on #1 if you're not up to speed...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own/know/have anything to do with anyone (real or imagined) mentioned in this work of PURE FICTION. Please don't sue me - I'm still trying to find a real job with benefits!**

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency" **

**CHAPTER TWO**

Sendhil

Our conference room is a joke. Not that Angel ever, like, intended it to _be_ one, but no one takes it seriously. He spent a pile of dough on this nice, long, dark marble table, and we hardly ever use the thing. Or if we do, it's not as it was meant to be used. There are rumors – probably spread by Spike – that Angel himself seduced a client once after we'd successfully imprisoned her dangerous stalker; Spike says he "seduced" her on the table – Booth says if anything, she was just, like, showing her gratitude. Angel refuses to acknowledge that there even _is_ a rumor.

Apart from that, Angel and Jen are both always shooing everyone away from sitting on it instead of the chairs (never me, of course). Angel once came in to find Simon, one of our "vagrant" informants (he _does_ have a home which he shares with a steady lover, just spends most of his time on the streets out of a pure desire to be around people and know what's going on), _sleeping _on the hard surface. Said his lover had spent the weekend away at his mother's for her birthday and he'd, like, gotten lonely and bored at home. Why he hadn't chosen to stay the rest of the night in the dumpster where he'd started out, I don't know, but maybe the smell finally got to him. Sure got to Angel, who sent him straight home for a shower.

Jen was, like, a total mess that day. Spent over three hours spraying the thing down with some ultra-mega-anti-hobo cleaner or something. That was okay, though, because that meant Noel took over front desk duties – and for one day, Angel wasn't overly annoyed or exasperated by the end of it. He considered trading Noel's fieldwork for Jen's position, but Noel turned it down, saying he preferred _doing_ things.

Noel may look and seem like a freak on the outside, and I know some people like that about him while others are skeptical; even, like, scared – maybe of the fact that they're not sure if he's a man or a woman but think he's pretty. But he's actually one of the cheeriest, friendliest, people-person kind of guys I've ever met. Which is why everyone here loves him – except Jen, of course, but she'll find a reason to dislike anyone but her boss... and one Mr. Seely Booth.

That twit's blatantly got the hots for that man like no one should – especially her, since she _has_ a live-in boyfriend of her own, But it's _so_ obvious, even to _me_, and that's saying something. Strange thing is, as obsessed as she is, she's so daft that she can't tell Seely and Angel apart – which is, like, impossible, other than they must look alike naked... I'm guessing. But the clothes, demeanors, attitudes, even the way they _talk_ – it's just so different, you'd think someone who thinks they're in love with someone else would know the difference.

But not much of that really concerns me, personally. I'm way more interested in, like, all the weird specimens and phenomena we've found along the way – and it keeps coming. Not just silly things like a young adult catching a curse for screwing a puppy, but this gemstone Angel needs to find is pretty intriguing, the more Chris shows and tells me about it. I'd love to get my hands on that, not to use it, but just to, like, study it and its capabilities, see its properties and what sort of threat it poses.

I'd probably get more help with that if Julian wasn't so afraid of Chris, which is ridiculous, if you ask me – like Noel, he may look a bit weird, but he's actually very sweet (though he's got an _acidic_ sense of humor). Really, I'd think he and Ju would hit it off, both being quiet and shy (though if you put them in a room together by themselves, neither would say a word, unless Ju got uncomfortable enough to start blathering like an idiot about jazz; and Chris would just stare at him until Ju felt _really_ awkward and shut up).

Okay, Ju can throw off the shy act when he wants, but it takes certain, specific elements to cause Chris to do the same, as his isn't really an "act" - not only is he a _Nispar_, which is the strangest branch of heritages to come from Utars anyway, but he truly is a shy, introverted person. But Ju doesn't quite understand _Nispar _characteristics, and that puts him off a bit. Though Zachary's half Human, I suppose he and Chris both exude some kind of, like, innate, other-worldly eeriness about them... but since I've known them so long (Chris longer), I've become used to them by now.

I guess "intense" is how I'd describe them. Like Angel and his usually somber, mysterious nature. But I'm just one of those people who are drawn to that sort of personality, I guess. Though to be honest, it's much more comfortable to be in a room alone with someone like Noel or Seely, who will drag you into inane or perverse conversations (those descriptions fitting either one), even if you're a clam. (Come to think of it, if anyone were to end up in a room alone with a clam, it would be Noel. And he _would_ try to talk to it.)

But again, that's all interpersonal relationships, which isn't as important, apparently, as this gemstone. Which was why I brought up the conference room in the first place, because that's where Angel has us all gathered (aside from Simon, who's out, like, doing other information-gathering) for an "urgent meeting." I guess the failure of Spike's team in finding the stone is a big deal to Angel, which only makes it more interesting to me, because he usually leaves artifact retrieval and research to me and Chris.

But it's a funny state of affairs just having us all in one room, as we all file in and, one after another, as I sit politely on the opposite side from the door in my white lab coat and watch the procession, Angel stands at the head of the precious table, sniping at people (Russell, Seely, Spike) to get their asses off the surface and sit in a seat properly. Russell, instead, insists on standing, just to be difficult and arrogant, and though Seely obliges, taking the seat across from me (Ju beside me, almost _glaring_ at the black-haired "child" across from him as Noel spins around and around in his chair like it's a carnival ride and giggling stupidly), Spike lopes to the other end of the table and hops on top, sitting cross-legged on the surface defiantly. Angel notes this but gives up on fighting it, and instead consorts with his "secretary" Jen about whatever bundle of papers she's got in her arms.

On the other hand, there's Angelina beside Noel, trying to tell him to sit still – but it's hard for her to do it with a straight face; like it or not, the kid amuses her, and since she's got a natural maternal instinct battling with her own childlike love of silly things, she acts like a doting, indulgent mother whenever she's around him. James is at the other end with Spike, pleading with him to just do as Angel says, at the same time guarding Spike as much as possible from where he sits (or guarding everyone else from the terror that _is_ his charge), and Zach is next to Julian.

That's an odd one, for him to be blithe around Zach, when he's so afraid of Chris – who is, as usual, perched in his seat like a bird, halfway down the table as if to keep himself distanced from either end of the polar opposites of Spike and Angel, choosing to remain neutral in everything, knees to his chest despite my knowledge that Angel is biting back his urge to tell him to get his feet off the chair cushions – luckily, he's barefoot.

Perhaps Julian and Zach sharing the office adjacent to mine for five years is what's made Ju so careless about someone he'd normally be shocked by just in, like, meeting the guy – indeed, much as he tries to cover it up with his own false arrogance and fake superiority complexes, insults, and pretending to be exasperated, even _I_ can tell Julian is just a hair away from groping Noel whenever he sees him. So Ju isn't that hard a book to read, basically.

Zach has to be aware of Ju's "secret" infatuation, too, which is probably why Ju doesn't mind him so much – after the initial fretting and embarrassment, it ebbs away into acceptance and trust that he has a confidante rather than a blackmailer on his side. Then again, maybe it's more like Ju has something on _Zach_ that Zach would be afraid of revealing, so they're on equal ground. Again, it's strange to study the interpersonal relationships between this group, like how Russell smiles and winks at the grinning, spinning idiot every time his face passes his view, and the glare I thought Ju was giving Noel for being a silly brat at a playground turns out to be directed at Russell – a possible threat to his own unrequited – unacknowledged – love? Who knows?

Once everyone gets situated, I realize I've been so engrossed in watching Ju's multi-angled stare that I just now notice a third person standing at the head of the table with our boss and Jen. A tall, lanky fellow in tight, torn blue jeans and a shirt that can only be described as a hippie's second-hand toss-off (maybe he's sneaked it from Russell's wardrobe?). His long, dirty blond hair, flowing over his shoulders in kinky curls, also helps the hippie image – but the somber, emotionless expression on his face seems to scream, "I ain't no fuckin' hippie, you asshole."

"First of all," Angel begins, not quite grabbing the attention of the assembled freaks, "I want to introduce our newest member, just made it official today, though Simon and I have both been meeting and working with him several times over the past month--"

Russell drags his eyes away from Noel's spinning long enough to let out a feigned gasp of horrified shock. "You mean to tell us you've been seeing other people behind our backs!? I say mutiny! _Mu-ti-ny!_"

But no one else chimes in with his chant, and some roll their eyes. Not even Spike responds, which is unusual, as he's typically, like, the one to suggest it himself. But today he seems too sulky to put out the energy to back up his teammate.

But Angel, cool and collected, merely states, "Well, seeing as one of our groups' _last_ assignments turned up _nothing_..."

Russell drops his pumping fists to his sides, clamming up immediately at the mention of the failure. Even looks a bit sulky himself.

"Maybe we would've been more successful," Spike spits out bitterly, "if we'd had sufficient information to go on--"

"Which you failed to ask about before getting my approval to _leave_," Angel finishes pointedly – again, shutting up the opposition with the truth of his words.

"_Any_way," Angel goes on with a sigh, "as always, the rules have been to do fieldwork in pairs or groups, and some of you have been matched accordingly to your strengths and weaknesses; we've stuck with those match-ups pretty regularly – until now. Of course, sometimes this has been difficult because of missions being planned haphazardly and critical steps have been, um... _mixed up_, shall we say, rather carelessly..."

With a slight cough, Jen's face flushes ever so minutely – not that she was ever in charge of assignments, but this must mean she's, like, helped cock up information with _real_ members of the "work forces."

"That aside," Angel continues, "I felt it best to re-evaluate things and add a new member to our ranks in order to give us more capabilities to branch out – time-wise _and_ information-oriented."

He pulls the sinewy faux-hippie between Jen and himself and introduces him, "This is Rich. He's an expert in forensics and has a knack for trailing some of the, uh, `bad guys' we tend to look for. He's been a great help to Simon in the past few weeks, but I think his work will be better utilized through this agency as a permanent, resident employee. He has a vast knowledge of medical, physiological, and Utar metaphysical aspects, and he used to work closely with Dark Arts experts who harnessed Bubbles."

I blink at this, gazing up at the man with the very serious face – well, Rich, that is, considering that could be applied to, like, either of them.

"Impressive," I blurt out thoughtlessly. "So you harnessed Bubbles? I still haven't witnessed a successful capture myself, and Chris and I have both worked with people who did the same thing..."

I trail off when the cold blue eyes target me, but the low voice, which comes out in, like, a slightly lazy Southern America drawl, answers cordially, "It can be done, when you have properly trained experts doing it."

I nod hopefully and lean in more, speaking like this is confidential – even if everyone can hear me.

"I'd love to hear some stories of your fieldwork sometime--"

"Okay, enough," Angel cuts me off before I get too excited. "Yeah, you'll have time for that later. Another problem is that certain field men have been around here long enough that they can't do anything but harass others when they're bored and aren't on a mission."

I notice his gaze comes to rest directly on Noel – still spinning around, back and forth, now even adding car-like noises to his actions.

"So, _Noel_," Angel says sharply to get the kid's attention, and he comes to a slow stop in his chair (Angelina, like, covering her face in exasperation as if it's her kid who's been troublesome), hands on the table edge to catch himself, and looks up at the boss with wide, clueless eyes. I wonder if he's even, like, listened to any of this all along.

"Wot?"

Angel sighs again and adds – almost reluctantly - "You'll finally get an office."

Noel blinks up at him in shock, mouth hanging agape at the words. "Office? _Me?_"

Which is probably what's going through everyone else's heads as well, though not as happily as his tone – either, like, irritated or, like me and Angelina, bemused.

"Really?!" The gape morphs into a wide grin and he pumps two fists in the air. "Yes! Finally!"

Russell snorts obnoxiously, "You're serious?" Although he's speaking of the same kid he's been suggestively leering over for the past, like, two years or something. "You called us all in here to tell us the man who bases most of his life philosophy on _candy_ has a cage now? Is that to show off how much better he is than us, or to assure us the freak has a lair now? What the f--"

"Not just that," Angel corrects sharply. "I wanted everyone to meet Rich, and to inform them both that they will be sharing the office on the underground floor next to the lab."

As Noel gleefully catches Rich's eye and gives him a thumbs-up signal (and Julian stiffens in his chair beside me; certainly the knowledge that Noel's office will be so close to the working space he and I usually occupy is enough to make Ju, like, nervous _and_ thrilled), Spike scoffs with annoyance.

"What the hell's this about!? I been here years and never got me own _office_. Now some pseudo-doctor from the streets who _just joined_ and the nutjob glam dingbat down there get one all to themselves!? How is this possibly fair--"

"That's because they've proved," Angel scowls at him, "in less time than you have, that they've _earned_ it."

"A bloody _month_, you've been talking to this stranger! Without talking to any of _us_ about it!" Spike hollers across the room, gesturing disdainfully at Rich – who hardly seems offended, but like, more interested in curiously eying up his new office-mate, who looks more chipper than most would at the idea of simply getting a shared office. "I've been getting shit from you for _years_ and you just blow me off!"

Angel leans over the table, one palm flat, and the other holding up a sheet of paper displaying the shining blue gem – an enhanced, blown-up picture of the true bounty from the last mission. The one that's still missing.

Spike's tension slumps away as he glares up at the ceiling.

"_This_ is why I hold off on advancing you idiots any further, because your '_team_' is too damn brash and either fucks up the mission, injures someone important, or shows up here with _nothing_ to go on. So _you_ tell _me_ why I should give you any privileges!?" He manages a glance at James, uttering sideways, "Sorry, man, but a group's a group."

And what he doesn't say is that, without James stuck to Spike's side, the Utar crazy man would be, like, even crazier; somehow, Angel figured out early on that James' presence, like, keeps Spike in check a lot. Not sure how it all works, but since it _does_ work lots of times, Angel's not about to, like, split up that pairing. Whether Russell will be able to stick with them is always up in the air, but it seems the best group to put him with, I'm guessing, since not many others would fit as well with him. Noel would be easily led into more stupidity and danger because he doesn't think his own instincts and ideas are, like, valid; Simon is a loner in work-mode, even if he likes people, and does his best work on his own, has his own way of doing things no one else mucks around with; Seely's the same way, especially since his assignments aren't as talked-about as the rest of us. And speaking of the rest of us, the majority is usually doing work _here_, in the building, in the lab and in offices, except when Angelina goes out to meet with the people she helps.

Surprisingly, a lot of the work we do here isn't very action-based, mostly interviews and studying, but when there's a call for action, that's when Angel calls on his "field teams" - which, basically, are like thugs, I guess. Noel can sneak around and find things out; Simon gathers information but rarely comes to the office; Zach sniffs around himself and can confront evil baddies into talking without violence (though there's always potential for more there, even if I haven't seen it myself). Sometimes Angel himself will go out there and lend a hand, but that's in dire situations, and with the help of the others, always means they, like, "win." But he doesn't like getting involved – guess he feels he's too, like, dangerous or something if he loses control. Whereas the others who go "out there" don't _mind_ losing control.

But back to the conversation at hand, at Angel's uttered apology, James shrugs, resigned to the fact that he's literally _stuck_ with his would-be twin; but it's still clear the outrageous attitudes of Spike and Russell aren't giving him any confidence. Besides, despite this verbal wringing-out, James is safe in the knowledge that he _does_ have an office – with _me_. Though he rarely uses it – or maybe he just avoids it because my work tends to, like, spread throughout the place and take over. I don't _mean_ to drive him out, but he's out there working most of the time anyway, so I don't think he cares.

"Well, if we're so inept," Spike shoots back scathingly, "why don't you send your bloody _brother_ on missions with us!? You seem to trust _him_ with important shit--"

"Seely has his own agendas to carry out," Angel replies flatly, as if there's to be no further argument or discussion about it as he stands straight again. "He doesn't have time for the side missions I toss to you three."

"_Side_ missions!?" Russell sputters in disbelief. "So we're basically just cleaning up messes while the _real_ pros have a crack at the _real_ jobs?"

Angel, like James before him, shrugs carelessly. "Yeah, if that's how you wanna put it..."

Russell snorts derisively again, twisting his head away in disgust.

"_But_," Angel goes on, "it seems, after more investigation, this gemstone is becoming more of a vital assignment, so I'm giving it over to a group I feel will have more success with it – and will have more _knowledge_ of it as well."

He takes the pile of papers from Jen and hands them to a startled Seely, who sits up straighter suddenly.

"Wha--_me? _Looking for a rock?"

"A stone," Chris corrects from his perch in his typical soft-spoken tone. "A precious and dangerous gemstone. Very powerful – and very lethal when in the hands of the wrong person. It was safe in a government facility until three months ago, when it went missing, stolen by someone who worked in the facility. Now not even the person who was discovered to have stolen it knows where it is, as it was taken from him not long after he'd escaped with it. It's now reported as missing and critical."

Ju lets out a scoff beside me and mutters, "Best not to leave that one for those two to muck about with, then..." Clearly referring to Russell and Spike.

Spike merely glowers at him, and Ju shrinks back a bit behind Zach's form, out of Spike's sight, no doubt regretting speaking his mind.

Thankfully, no rough-housing starts up as Angel continues with his true purpose.

"The government overseeing the recovery of it hasn't had any success finding it," he goes on, very business-like now, "and has confidentially requested local police departments to initiate local investigations. But according to information Simon and Rich have uncovered, there hasn't been any success there either. Simon struck up a deal with an informant from this city's police department to utilize our resources, so we've got a job to do – and if we come through on this one, not only will we be possibly be saving lives, but it'll definitely boost our reputation. We'll be more trusted by the police, who _do_ have some confidence in us, but also have their doubts as well. Maybe we can eliminate some of those doubts this way and get them on our side, get them to ask us for help more easily when they're at a loss."

He points between Rich and Noel, his gaze steadily focused on his twin.

"The three of _you_ will take up the case, as I think it'll be more successful in the hands of those more detail-oriented and _logical_ than the last group. You'll basically be their cover while they work together to figure out where the stone could be--"

But Angel's cut off as Russell outright laughs, pointing to the back of Noel's dark head. "_Him? Logical!?_ He's still devastated by the thought that Julian ran over the Easter Bunny!"

Finally, Noel spins around to him, looking insulted at first – but then putting on his rarely displayed face of seriousness. Even his _tone_ is uncharacteristically stern, which grabs the attention of many others in the room who would never have expected it from him – Angelina included... but not me or Zach, surprisingly (Chris isn't even startled by someone lighting his hair on fire). "Oi! I may have an active imagination, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot! I can be logical when it's appropriate. Figure out the difference between having a good time and knowing when to concentrate, you twat."

And for him to be that firm even takes Angel back a bit. And Noel calling Russell – his _"mate,"_ his friend, his flirt buddy – a _twat_, that means Noel's not fucking around. I guess getting an assignment like this weighs a bit more in importance than being the cheerful little tart he usually is.

Russell isn't able to continue his unbelieving giggles, and Angel raises his eyebrows, assuring the Gypsy, "He's better than you give him credit for. Or than you've proved yourself."

Noel turns back, the strict air gone, and smiles the familiar idiot smile up at him. "Thanks, boss!"

Angel rolls his eyes, uttering under his breath, "Still doesn't mean you're _not_ an idiot."

Noel quirks an eyebrow at him, pursing his lips, but says nothing to instigate another pointless banter session – especially if "the boss" is... _mostly_ on his side.

Chris

Within an hour after the meeting, I could hear the din below my office as Angel tried to get Rich settled in (and Noel began taking spare pieces from around the building and shifting them into his new office – not that he needed any of it, as Angel had already set it up for them to his own liking, but Noel needs to feel cluttered and disorganised to be comfortable).

My office – more like a library of objects next to the _real_ library of _books_ – isn't quite above theirs; I simply have very delicate ears. Many people here believe I'm something of a psychic because I always know who is coming to visit me and when, perhaps speaking their names before they reach my doorway. This isn't the case. I merely recognise the rhythm of each individual's gait on the tiled floor outside my (rustic) carpeted room and hear them coming. The business-like clatter of Angelina's sleek stilettos, the nervous titter of Jen's wedged heels (the rare times she's forced to come speak to me, if she hasn't found an excuse to keep away; she feels awkward enough being stationed at the desk several metres from my door, poor girl), the lazy but cheerful swagger of Booth's suave black shoes, the giddy and upbeat "skipping" of Noel's fancy boots, the angry stomping of Spike's not-so-fancy boots, the reluctant shuffle of Julian's loafers when Sendhil's too busy to let me enjoy his own buoyant, scattered, hurried pace.

I _do_ pay attention. I just don't think others pay attention enough to _realise_ I pay attention. Because I interpret situations and life in different ways – but come out with similar conclusions as everyone else.

Like after the meeting, as Zach caught Sendhil at the foot of the staircase, while others went about their business (apart from Noel pausing to glance surreptitiously over his shoulder at Zach with a sly smirk before heading down to his new basement office), I stood a good three metres away from them at reception, as Jen would certainly be held up by details in Angel's office for quite a while. Intrigued by the unusual initiation on Zach's part (and preferring to catch a few extra gulps of fresh lobby air before being closed up in my musty office again – not that I mind it, really, but once in a while I like the light), I occupy myself by toying with some of Jen's pens, making them stand upright on their tips, at the same time overhearing the timid, low rumbles from Zach's throat, and Sendhil's clueless yet earnest replies.

Zachary started out promising, asking – confirming – if Sendhil would be working late tonight. Which he always does, of course. After that rather typical exchange, Zach began to backslide and I knew he was losing his nerve. I twirled one of the upended pens and infused it with a touch of positive Light energy, playfully "zapping" Zach from behind without him even noticing, and he managed to utter, "I... I have some questions about an artifact related to a case I'm working on. Do you think you could take a look at it when you're not busy? Later, of course. I'll be working late too, so there's no rush. I just need to figure out some... some of its properties, and I don't know much about the science of artifacts..."

Sendhil's eyes were wide, startled. "Wow," he chuckled. "I don't think I've heard you speak that much since you started here!"

Zach stumbled back into his hesitant nature, so I spun the second pen to direct another sly burst of invisible nerve into his back.

Perhaps my intentions were a bit too strong that time, as Zach literally jolted with a start. But then he blurted out rapidly, "Maybe we can have dinner together tonight – in the lab – and work on it?"

Maybe he was automatically expecting a flat-out rejection, but Sendhil hardly let on that he suspected anything but what Zach had spoken, and nodded immediately. "Oh, sure, sure. I'm working on speculation on what this gemstone of... Jak...Well, you know... I'm working on suspected reasons for its powers right now, but sure, I could use a reminder to eat now and then. I think I work better while I'm eating too," he grinned, and patted Zach on the arm as he added, "and having good company around, an _interested_ party no less, while I work helps too. So I'll see you after six or so? Julian and Noel leave around then, so we can work on it together."

_Together... Alone..._

I could clearly see Zach's back tense up, even if I was poised in the opposite direction – I just knew the idea of being alone with Sendhil was surreal, terrifying, yet a dream come true for the Halfie.

I glanced back briefly over my shoulder to see Zach give a shaky but affirmative nod, and Sendhil smiled and continued on his way to the lab. Then Zach stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, until he must have sensed my presence and turned to me – just as I turned my attention back on Jen's twirling pens, starting the third one up just as the other two lifted themselves from the desktop.

He took a few steps toward me and I spoke quietly but clearly, "I suspect you have need to ask something of me?"

He stopped short, startled. "Uh... how... how did you--"

I turned around to him, pens still spinning, all hovering now, and raised my eyebrows. "I thought you might. Would you like me to find an artifact to study?"

"Yes, please," he went on earnestly, coming closer. "It's a ring, a sort of emerald stone ring found on the corpse we recovered of that Utar female whose children Angelina's finding a foster home for right now. It wasn't on her finger, but it was found on her person, so I think something is important about it that the people who killed her and her husband were trying to find it – I don't think it was entirely a race-related murder. I have my paperwork upstairs, but I'm sure they gave any pertinent object findings to you..."

As he went on in a somber but intense tone, my eyes widened (more than usual; a Human once told me that for them, a lack of blinking eyelids and the ability to see the whites of one's eyes entirely around the iris are signs of insanity – I recall vaguely telling that person that Utars aren't completely different from Humans, so his assessment could be accurate... I also recall vaguely that I couldn't tear my wide, unblinking eyes away from his back as he rapidly walked away from me), which made him trail off. He regarded me suspiciously.

"It doesn't sound familiar?"

I blinked finally, shaking myself out of my stupor. "Oh – no, no, yes, I know exactly which artifact you refer to – and yes, it does seem to be of genuine Utarian origin, a true artifact, so your instinct may prove legitimate. I'll go get it for you, shall I?..." And as I unsteadily sauntered back to my office, I was completely aware of the stunned expression following after me.

Zach may not have known how or why, but he _must_ have been a bit surprised to know _he'd_ managed to stump _me_. Not about the ring, not about a Halfie with no outward signs of Utar powers going on a gut feeling and being quite accurate. But the truth had nothing to do with his investigative abilities without the advantage of active Utarian powers. Many Humans _and_ Utars have proved to me that one is no better or worse than the other; but some are exceptionally talented in areas the opposite race would not expect of them.

The truth was fantastically more simple than that, and I found myself bemused by the simplicity of it, and how easily this "simplicity" had confused me. I'd figured he'd made up the story of needing help about an object on the spur of the moment, and was going to ask for _my_ help in finding something that seemed legitimate enough to worm a dinner together – _alone_ – with Sendhil out of him. A coy, work-related excuse.

Who knew he'd actually _had_ a legitimate _reason?_ That was what I hadn't expected. It was a mere convenience that he could use, he must have realised in that last second.

The fact that someone had managed to pull something unexpected on _me_, while at the same time getting dinner with Sendhil – well, _that_ was a double win on his part, whether he realised it or not.

Curious, I thought to myself as I hunted down his ring. A mere Half-blood managing to throw me off, the unflappable, "out there" _Nispar_ who hardly responded to his own name occasionally. I wasn't offended or slighted in the least – more like... _impressed_. Obviously this rare specimen had been a very good choice for Angel's team. After only five years, he'd managed to faze me, while Sendhil himself, whom I'd worked with on different projects for over a decade, had never made me twitch once; it usually takes a normal Human or Utar at least a decade – or a coy betrayal – to do that. He was clearly a special boy.

A few moments after Zach entered my office to obtain the ring and I began to explain some details to him, a violent shriek coming from the lobby jerked us out of our conversation. But before Zach could even reach the door to see what was going on, I let out a sigh when I remembered: _Oh yeah... Jen's pens._

Angel

I moan when Noel drags a ceramic statue, about half his own size, of a cherubic, nude, childlike faux fountain into the office, which is already packed with two desks, a sofa, and three chairs (one for each desk and one pointless recliner Noel had found stashed away in Chris's office – turned out it was several years old, had no real purpose, and Chris claimed it was found at the scene of a crime but had no real "artifact-related" uses, but no one ever came to claim it). Apart from the ridiculous amount of furniture for such a small room, there's a mountain of silly trinkets, creepy dolls (still not "set up" as Noel visualized), and five tins of sweets he'd sneakily snatched from various others' offices and desks (three from Jen's alone, probably just to get on her nerves) piled on his desk.

He reluctantly gives over one of the candy tins to Rich's desk as the tall scarecrow of a man eyes up the mess with a bemused expression, but says not a word about his new partner's quirky insistence that their office needs to be less bland than everyone else's.

"I know we got missions and important stuff to do, yeah?" Noel huffs as he maneuvers the statue into a corner beside his desk. "But I've _gotta_ have a little _style_ in any place that's deemed `my own.'"

"You forget," I point out from the sofa at the far end of the room, opposite the door, "that it's not _just 'your_ office.' Maybe Rich would like to add a few things. _Useful_ things. Like filing cabinets, or shelves--"

But Rich shrugs it off carelessly as he slides into his seat. "Don't matter to me. I got nothin', really. I'll leave the decor to the expert."

At the compliment, Noel turns a beaming smile on him, eyes glittering. "Cool! Oh! I've got some paintings I done at home I could bring in for you, may be up your alley – er, well, what my first impression of what your alley would be, anyway – so I'll fetch em tomorrow morning and put em up on your side if you like--"

Rich shrugs again, playing absently with the latch on the sweets tin. "Sounds good to me. Wouldn't mind seeing an _Avaraura_'s artwork."

Not even acknowledging or questioning how Rich knows his heritage, Noel claps his hands and exclaims, "Great!" Then sets to work on lining up his dolls on a shelf behind and above his desk, as I roll my eyes and shove myself out of my seat.

"Well, in between your _setting-up_," I growl irritably, "could you _please_ spare some time to do some actual _work_ on this case? It _is_ pretty damn important." And I start to stomp out of the room, just as Seely reaches the doorway, hands still full of the packet I'd given him at the meeting.

"Oh," he says brightly. "You're out of your office? This is rare--"

"I was trying to oversee the move," I grind out, glaring back at Noel's crestfallen face (and I instantly feel guilty for being so brash – damn, why's that kid affect everyone so much!?) and Rich's slightly sympathetic glance at him. Instead of continuing my temper tantrum, now that Noel's reduced me to _guilt_ and Seely clearly has business to discuss with them (reassuring me they _won't_ reel off track right away after my public display of confidence in them), I merely finish softly, "But I suppose that's unnecessary. Just do what you need to," I go on, passing a hint of a glance at Noel myself as an apology, "and I trust you'll be fine."

His sheepish look brightens and he waves a disfigured Barbie doll at me. "Don't worry, boss! I'm good at multi-tasking!"

I nod and turn to leave, muttering under my breath, "I'm sure you are..."

Seely

So once my gloomy bro leaves the room, I close the door behind me and grin at the sofa with approval. "Aw, Noel, ya thought of me, that's sweet."

He grins back knowingly. "I know your stuffy little closet space Angel thinks is your office isn't good enough for you, and since we'll be workin' together, I figured you should be comfortable when you're down here too, right?"

I let out a sigh of relief as I toss the packet of info onto Rich's desk and flop backwards onto the couch, reveling in the fact that it fits me perfectly, even down to my classy black shoes. I put my hands behind my head and muse, "Where'd you even find this thing?"

"It was already down here when we came in, actually," Rich answers seriously as he pages through the contents of the packet – destroying the illusion that this was Noel's idea with me in mind; but Noel doesn't seem at all perturbed by this – too into his decorating to notice. "I'm guessing Angel brought it in ages ago – payment from a client who couldn't afford your services monetarily, but dealt in trade instead. But there was no room for it anywhere else."

Noel giggles, hanging a gaping-mouthed skull from a rusty bent nail coming out of his shelf. "I think he hid it away down here so's you wouldn't know about it."

I roll my eyes. "He always was a little stiff about that. My so-called office upstairs only has a tiny desk, a cabinet, and a creaky old wooden chair. I guess he figured I'd always be out on missions, so I don't _need_ a proper office space to settle into."

"Feel free to settle in here," Rich assures me absently, brow furrowed over the info from the packet he studies. "I doubt Noel would mind. He'd probably prefer more people packed into one room."

There's no denial from the smaller man's still-grinning mouth.

I quirk an eyebrow up at Rich. "And you? Do _you_ mind?"

He finally lifts his gaze – now slack and dull – and peers at me. "I don't care. A sofa's a sofa. If you fit, it must mean you're meant for it."

I smirk at his explanation.

"Or," he adds with a twist of his own lips as he turns a page and lowers his head again, "you've just finally found a place to sleep at work where Angel might be less apt to catch you, instead of the tiny little leather job in Angelina's office."

"Maybe," Noel continues with a snicker – as he rearranges a bundle of Russian eggs into a particular scheme, "he's trying to keep you from hitting on her so much."

I gawk at their private smiles, about to bolt upright – but the plush sofa's too snug to bother, so I merely scoff, "I do not _hit on her_; we're good friends and we get along. Maybe there's some flirting sometimes, but I don't _hit on her_. What's he know?"

"Well," Noel chirps (now celo-taping onto the wall beside the shelf some crude but still beautifully rendered illustrations from an open sketchbook he's ripping pages out of), "we all know you two get on like a house on fire, and you like taking Mad out for ice cream when his mum's too busy, so I'm pretty sure we _all_ know the next step for that one..."

Rich, surprisingly, is nodding along with him. "And though the typical unspoken rule in a traditional office is not to get involved with colleagues in businesses, this place is hardly what anyone would consider traditional. Which is just one reason I'm already liking it here. But I'm sure Angel wants to try to keep interpersonal relationships to a minimum, and very low-key if possible--"

"--or slow as a snail--" Noel grumbles.

"--so it doesn't interfere with work." Rich finishes his reading – which is amazing, as it took me an hour to get through the thing, despite already knowing most of the particulars – and closes the file, folding his hands together on top of it and smiling benignly at me over his desk. "Whether it's because you're his brother and Angelina is a beautiful but busy single mother, one he highly respects and cherishes as a friend _and_ employee, or all that other office policy bullshit, my instinct tells me he wants to make sure you two take it slow, so she won't get burned again. And with her son taking quite a shine to you while he's usually wary of most men, the possibility of something going wrong and dissolving both those relationships would not only hurt _you_ two, but Mad would be traumatized."

I gawk at them both, as Noel nods along while turning fluidly to accept the file Rich holds out to him – without a word or a look at him, cold blue eyes still locked on me. I note in the back of my head that this partnership is obviously gelling far faster than any of us would have guessed, and I'm impressed by that. But then, Noel's easy to warm up to naturally, and though I don't know Rich well at all, he seems the type to take things in stride; must have sized up Noel eerily accurately within minutes of seeing him at the meeting.

But that's not my main concern at the moment, as I blurt out, "How the hell do you people know about this stuff!?"

"Please," Noel sputters as he leans back on his desk and starts reading the file – much slower than Rich... It'll probably take him three hours, if not more. Not that he's thick (honestly), but he admitted to me once confidentially that, not only does he think he's a little dyslexic, but wasn't properly taught how to read until his teens. He didn't divulge much else about his upbringing, but hinted that it wasn't a very pleasant one. And with all the wars and troubles today, it's hardly a surprise. In fact, it's rare to find anyone who doesn't have a sob story – luckily, many of them have tried moving past their tragedies and prefer not to dwell on them.

Actually, funny as it may seem, Angel and I are most likely the least fractured in this entire company. Sure, we had our fair share of traumas, but our childhood and family life was unusually happy and stable. Any problems that got to us emotionally happened when we were already adults. Probably Jen, too – she hardly knows how to take a phone message, but I'm damn sure she came from wealth and privilege, which explains her ineptitude.

The girl was pampered all her life. _And_ she's just _stupid_.

But still, Noel's going on as his eyes move slowly, unsteadily over the pages, "The rest of us have been seein' it go down for years, mate. And since Rich's been hangin' out with Angel and Simon for a month now--"

I actually do sit up now, spinning to Rich. "Did he talk about me behind my back!? What'd he tell you!?"

Rich is non-plussed at my outburst. He stands from his chair and saunters over to Noel's desk, picking through the remaining toys and trinkets. "He told me about all of you, so I'd get an idea of who I'd be working with. He had to mention your history of being a sniper--"

Noel lifts his head suddenly, wide eyes peering at me in wonder. "You were a sniper?"

I lean forward on my knees and glare at the floor. "Let it go, Noel – I can't talk about it."

He lowers the file to his desk and tilts his head to the side in sympathy. "Must be hard to talk about--"

"I _mean_," I snap bitterly, "I can't _talk_ about it, because it's confidential."

He bites his lip and picks up the file again. "Oh. Okay. Fair enough."

Rich is blinking at Noel. "You didn't know that?"

"No," I answer for him. "Because it's supposed to be..."

"Confidential," Noel nods, pressing a finger to his lips in understanding. "Got it."

"But I'm sure he shared this information with me for a reason," Rich goes on. "Because, as he said, it's more important than we realized, this gemstone, and this mission might get dangerous." He gives Noel a poignant look and tells him, "He assigned this to us because he knows we can do it – but he's _not_ saying we're expendable. Otherwise, he wouldn't have assigned his own brother to be our guard. Our cover, remember? He wants only the best to keep his team safe."

Noel holds his gaze steadily, nodding slowly as he lets the facts sink in. "And his brother--"

"_--is_ the best," Rich confirms.

Despite the complimentary banter, I cut in, "Well, okay, but why's he gotta tell ya about my friendship with Angie, _or_ Mad?"

"To keep you... in line, I guess," Rich suggests, pulling three small pewter statuettes of the Utar Pillar Spirits _Utral, Avaraura_, and _Sheestraszah_ from the pile – the spirits of strength and power; art and illusion; knowledge and wisdom (generally thought of as "psychics"); respectively. He sets the art spirit on Noel's bony shoulder, and it inevitably tumbles off, but the skinny Utar catches it easily, smiling at the familiar beauty in his hands. Rich then leans over to hand me _Utral_. The spirit of wisdom he holds up to his eyes, studying it carefully.

"These combined skills should protect, help and guide us." He lowers the statuette and eyes me up with a tiny smile. "He doesn't want you to get distracted with matters of your heart while we stake our lives on this mission. That's why he told me – so I would be aware of what's important to you, and keep you from destroying that, without letting Noel and myself be harmed."

His voice is like a droning buzz in my ears, not dulling me into submission, but calming me into acceptance. Slowly, I nod once and feel myself growing stoic through his words. I clutch the statuette firmly and assure him, "Then I won't let you – either of you – or Angel down. And if I need to, I'll be honest about my duties with Angie and Mad--"

"But vague."

"Um... Yeah, of course," with little conviction.

"If they know too much, they may get dragged into it – which I know you would never want."

"Of course." And this time I mean it.

Noel, meanwhile, is gnawing his lower lips into a reddened sore, and the look in his eyes as he stares at Rich is obviously fearful. "Uh... That bad, huh?"

Rich shrugs, then holds up the statuette. "Can I keep this one on my desk?"

Noel hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the other figurines. "Well, it's part of a set, but..." Then he turns back and beams at him. "Sure. Seems to suit you."

Rich props the statuette neatly in the center of his desk and looks satisfied.

And then, as Noel flounders through the rest of the file, Rich and I do our best to start the discussion angle of the mission – having to pause several times to explain more for Noel, but Rich's patience is saintly, not to mention contagious, and by the time we get through half of it, the three of us are sitting on the floor and going back and forth like we've been working together since I started this place with my brother. Even more astounding is Noel's eye and mind for detail – just as he'd insisted at the meeting, but no one really took seriously. He actually makes several points Rich and I had overlooked – or hadn't been able to process without Noel's abilities. The team is forming as we go, and it's the first one I've felt this confident, this strong about; unlike the previous few "team" missions I've had, where I felt distant or disjointed. Despite only being seen as "the muscle" in this assignment by my brother, Rich and Noel include me in on every detail, making sure all three of us are on the same page and are at the same level of understanding.

And damn, I realize before we even get to the second half – this gem thingy is way older and more lethal than the other team had taken it, and if we don't find it fast, _loads_ of people will suffer.

The other surprise I get is, when we pause so Noel can get us some food, I'm alone with Rich, and remembering his words from earlier, about both heart and mind, plus his tone and his obvious display of intellect and an ability to connect with people he's just met, I come to the conclusion that he must have heritage in him which derives from the very statuette he managed to separate from Noel's set (my own piece having already been retrieved when I nearly dropped it and Noel shrilly scolded me as he snatched it back).

But when I look at Rich to ask this, now being so close, the words die on my lips – I've just now noticed that those icy but wise eyes are completely round, just a mere circle. No star-shaped iris at all.

This man who emits such a strong Utarian air about him, who obviously has an attachment to that particular Pillar Spirit of knowledge, who's worked thoroughly for years with Utars – is plainly _Human_. There is no trace of Utar magic in his veins – but still, a magic of his own resides behind those deceivingly dull eyes. This man _has_ to be a genius.

A Human that impressive on my team – that's nothing _but_ a reassurance.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And yes, I am relentless despite no current urgings - here's #3!**

**Disclaimer: Oh, read the first two. I'm broke and have mental issues. Don't sue me, this is fiction!**

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency" **

**CHAPTER THREE**

Noel

After such a long, draining meeting of the minds in my brand new office, I feel so wiped that I need to get away from it all. Seein' as Julian's still neck-deep in information Sendhil's got him loggin' into our data system (the computer room's right next to the lab _and_ my new office with Rich, though it's only connected through the lab), I figure we won't be headin' home anytime soon. Ju seems pretty rapt by the glow of the screen, so I'm betting we won't be out of here till six. Which leaves me about two hours to go bug someone.

Since Ju's in the computer room (and I have a tendency to make techy stuff not work if I'm around it), and Sendhil's deep in discussion in the lab with Chris and Rich over this stone thingy I just spent four hours going over with the others, I know who my best bet is. And it's pretty common, too, since I already spend half my time nagging Zach anyway. He should be expectin' it, really. So I make a quick jolt away from The Jen Zone (otherwise known as "The Dead Zone") and head upstairs to where Zach's been hiding the last few hours.

At first when I knock and let myself in, I'm confused, 'cause he's nowhere in the tiny office, but he answers when I call his name. Then I follow his voice to the even tinier closet Julian's not aware of, and realise the big timid dude's nearly closed himself in. Probably workin' on his painting, I guess.

But when I peek through the crack he's left open, I'm startled to find Zachary holding up a small square of a mirror in the dim light of the single bulb above his head. When I creak the door open a bit, blinking at his back in astonishment (he's actually _fussing_ about his _hair!?_), he spins to me, like a teenager getting caught wanking off.

He coughs and tries to hide the mirror behind his back, but he should know better – me and shiny things (especially mirrors) have always had a common bond and work well together.

"Aw, Zachary," I taunt playfully, teeth gleaming despite the low light with the wideness of my grin. "Are you _preening?"_

The dour look on his face admits defeat and he skulks out of the closet, laying the mirror on his desk as he slumps into the chair.

"Fretting, actually," he confesses in his gentle voice, though there _is_ a hint of despair to it now.

"Aw, what for?" I sit on the edge of his desk and unconsciously pick up the mirror, surprised by my own disheveled appearance; such hard work doesn't suit me, it seems, and I tend to my locks carefully. "What's got you all bothered, eh?"

Though it seems I'm preoccupied fixing my own head mop, it's really not the case – I'm listening very intently as my fingers and eyes work together to spruce up the once limp tendrils. Zach knows this about me – that I may seem distracted, but my mind's actually focused on him and his problem.

Folding his arms over his chest and glaring down at the floor, he mutters, "What would he ever see in me anyway? We've worked here together for five years and he's never once shown an interest. Why would I even expect anything but what he thinks I want to talk about?..."

As he trails off sadly, I find myself uncharacteristically pulled away from my own reflection to gawk down at my friend. Not only am I stunned by his self-deprecation, but what he's hinting at could only mean one thing.

"Oh! You're seeing Sendhil tonight?" I gasp happily.

His sour puss doesn't change, though. He just nods somberly, his brow knitted as if he now regrets this opportunity.

"You actually asked him out?" I go on, unable to hide my glee – a step away from clapping my hands together excitedly. "Oh, Zach, that's incredible! Good on you, mate! I'm impressed you finally got the courage to--"

"I don't know what came over me," he interrupts, sounding irritated. "I don't know what happened. I don't think I'm ready. And I didn't really ask him _out_, just asked him to help me with a case and said we could have dinner together while we work."

I shrug. "It's one way of doin' it. At least now you have a chance!"

His narrowed eyes latch onto mine, a creepy look close to anger in them. "A chance to do _what?_"

"To impress him!" I insist, immune to his glare by now.

"With _what?_ I've got nothing – I was going to back out anyway, but something strange happened, I don't know what. Before I knew it, I was asking him..."

"And he said yes, didn't he?" I point out despite my mate's enduring pout.

He gives a half-shrug, looking away with a sulk as his arms tighten around his chest. "Probably only because it _does_ involve a case. If I'd asked him just to dinner... I shouldn't have done it," he sighs. "I hate having ulterior motives. And where the hell did I get that urge to keep going anyway? Why did I _do_ that?"

I smirk, recalling Chris hanging around Jen's desk after the meeting and probably seeing the "proposal" first-hand. I lift an eyebrow, a little surprised to think he'd actually noticed the stew brewing in our Zachary.

Then again, he and Sendhil live together, and have been with the agency the longest, besides its founders, so maybe he knew about Zach's infatuation before Julian _or_ I came into the picture. You just can never tell with Chris – some things he picks up on; others he just doesn't bother with. But it's hard to tell which is which for him.

Zach finally notices my strange expression and eyes me up warily. "What?"

I shrug it off. "Oh, just sounds to me like maybe someone with some Light Arts abilities saw your plight and gave you a hand."

Zach's squinted eyes now grow wide. "You... You went downstairs to your office – I saw you leave." He stiffens in his chair. "Noel, if you dared--"

I hold my hands up defensively. "Hey, I swear it wasn't me! You're right, I wasn't there, I had no part in it!"

Zach slumps back again, eyes darting around furiously as he thinks long and hard – then hisses, "Chris – he was right there, probably the whole time, he's a master of Light _and_ Dark Arts. He's known Sendhil longer than any of us--"

"And probably knew about your thing for him years ago," I add with a nod.

Zach rakes a hand through his hair anxiously. "Damn him... I wouldn't be so nervous right now if he hadn't... done whatever it was he did. That sneaky little--"

"Hey now," I cut in before he can slag off the tiny _Nispar_. "I think he was doin' you a favor, mate."

Zach looks up at me in anguish. "_How?_ I'm a complete mess now!"

"No," I coo at him, sliding off the desk and taking him by the arms. "He obviously approves of your interest in his mate if he was egging you on, so take it as a gift." I struggle thoroughly, considering the height and build difference, but finally succeed at dragging the reluctant lump out of his chair, forcing him to stand up.

"Now, you said before you ain't got nothin', eh?" I remind him, picking up the mirror and forcing it into his hands.

He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he follows my unspoken orders. But when I give my verbal ones, he just stares at me like I've grown green tits out my head or somethin'.

"You know that's a load of bollocks, mate, and I'm gonna make sure you acknowledge it before you go down there – even if it takes us the whole two hours. Now look at that face in the mirror. Go on – look at it. Not _me_, you dolt, _you!_ Do it!"

He finally relents and stares blankly at himself.

"Now say, `I love you, and I accept you exactly as you are.'"

He nearly drops the mirror when he whirls on me. "Are you fucking kidding me--"

I duck momentarily – partly to catch the mirror, partly to avoid his dagger-driven glare – but then readjust our positions as I hold it up in front of him instead, facing him directly and speaking sternly.

"Do it! `I love you, and I accept you exactly as you are!' Say it!"

His gaze remains above the edge of the mirror, giving me a ridiculous look.

"This isn't therapy, for gods' sake," he mutters scathingly. "I don't need to--"

I shove the mirror at his face when he tries to step around me and order, "Do it! _Now!_"

After some more fighting and denial, he finally utters the rather embarrassing mantra, though it sounds more like a threat than an affirmation.

"Fine," I give in, dropping the mirror to the desk again. "There, that's over. Now," and I cross my arms over my own chest, standing firmly in front of him and speaking like I spoke to Russell in the morning meeting.

"You think you got nothin', do ya? Well, let me tell you – you're _wrong_, and you bloody well _know_ you're wrong, so no more false modesty, got it?"

Turning my stern side onto _him_ must stun Zach into submission, because he's suddenly all meek and nodding along with me.

"Um... uh... okay..."

"I'll tell you one thing to start you off, and then you tell me something else positive – none of this `I'm shit and I'm not worthy' bollocks. Got it?"

Another shaky nod, and the taller bloke seems like he's much smaller than me at the moment.

"So," I go on, "you're a gifted painter and artist, even though you aren't an _Avaraura_ – that's rare and damn interesting. Your turn."

Zach struggles for a bit, scratching his head – probably wondering how and when he'd gotten dominated by the Nazi of Positive Self-Esteem.

"Um... I'm, uh... I'm tall--"

I swat his head and scold him, "That's just stating the obvious! Doesn't count! Give me something more, something better."

"Um... I'm, uh, really good at, uh... something..."

"At what?"

"Uh... I guess--"

"Don't guess, just say it! And `scaring people' isn't positive, so don't even think about it."

He winces, as if I've just read his mind, smacked him again, _and_ stolen his candy. But the trooper tries again, "I'm good at... s-solving puzzles?"

I nod my approval, and he lets out a sigh of relief. "Nice one. Now me – you're _extremely_ handsome, and if we weren't already good mates, I'd be all over you like melted Nutella on bread. Your turn."

But Zach stops, eyes like saucers as he stares at me, dumbfounded. "D-Do you... Do you really mean that?"

"'Course I do, otherwise I wouldn't've said it. Now come on – your turn."

But Zach's still stumped – his cheeks turning an adorable pink. "You... really feel that way about m--"

"I find you attractive, yes," I answer shortly, matter-of-fact. "I'd do ya, hell yes – but we don't have that kind of relationship, so it would be awkward. I fancy you aesthetically, yes, but would never act on it because it wouldn't be healthy to our friendship, especially since, even if we get along now, we don't have the romantic chemistry that's necessary to keep that kinda thing going, so let's skip that part and move on to _your turn_."

It takes him a while, but I suppose finally accepting that bit of knowledge gives him an ego boost (an _Avaraura_ such as myself, who has a keen eye for all forms of physical and metaphysical beauty, complimenting him like that can _only_ boost his ego), because when he does collect himself, he says with more conviction, "I'm quite intelligent... most of the time--"

"Not most of the time!" I correct sharply. "That was good, but you should cut off after the important part: you _are_ intelligent. Great. What else?"

After a few more grueling rounds of this, Zach's confidence eventually regresses back into self-loathing, and he blurts out helplessly, "I'm just not ready, Noel! I've got... like, _nothing_ to hold his interest. I'm a Halfie with no active Utar powers, I'm practically useless--"

"Except all those great things we hashed out already," I amend. "Which are all true, by the way, and I know there's even more in there--"

"I need help!" he confesses in a frenzy, groping for my hands, his eyes pleading with me like I've never seen before. This shocks me into listening as he explains himself.

"Yeah, okay, so maybe I've got all those qualities and more – but whenever I'm around him, I turn into a mute idiot! I'll come across as either too creepy or uninterested myself – or a complete moron. And I mean, I've got no, like... _style!_ I'm almost less than an hour away from meeting up with him, and I'm agonising over what I should say, what I should wear, what I should do--"

But he's already hit the nail on the head – the lightbulb in _my_ head shines brightly as soon as the word slips from his mouth. I silence him by putting up a pointed finger – or maybe it's that shining light that appears in my eyes.

"Ah! You need style tips? The ego boost may have been a shaky endeavor – but _this_, my friend, I _can_ help you with. It _is_ one of my many specialties!"

And the relief on his face is reward enough as I set about messing with his hair and experimenting with what little materials in the way of clothing we have at our disposal from the closet. But I _am_ a fashion genius, if I may be so bold to proclaim it so, and by the time I'm done with him, he is pure hot scientist in a bundle of sleek dark lab coat, partially unbuttoned black cotton shirt, and – well, not much to work with here – his usual dark pants. But his shoes are shined, his hair is sexily unkempt, and the slight stubble I leave on his face is alluring in its own way.

Yes, by the time six o'clock rolls around, he may still feel jittery and nervous – but he _looks_ suave and manly, delicious enough to nibble on...

But when I tell him this, his cool demeanor suddenly evaporates and he gasps, groping for the phone.

"Shit!" he exclaims, yanking a phone book from his desk drawer as he fumbles with the receiver. "I promised him dinner!"

Well, I tried. I did my best. Now it's all up to him – though I'd like to give him that same artificial nudge of guts like Chris did earlier (but I won't, seeing as Zach doesn't want to come across as _too_ arrogant). I leave the office wiping my hands, on my way to fetch Julian, and sigh, "My work here is done."

Zach manages a quick thank-you in between bits of half-orders from a local Chinese/Eastern Utar specialty delivery shop, and all I can do is wish him luck in my head. Seems he's got his hands full at the moment.

Chris

Of course I already know what's going on, but when Zach comes down the staircase looking like some kind of James Bond scientist, all suave and gentlemanly, I know Noel's gotten to him first. Good thing, too, I suppose, as it may have boosted his confidence a bit more. Given him more of a direction as to how to approach the social aspect of this unofficial "date."

As I'm standing in the doorway to the Artifacts Room, and most people have left for the day, Zach catches sight of me. To my surprise, he comes straight up to me, papers and ring in hand, and asks feverishly, "Are you still here for a while?"

I shrug uselessly, tilting my head in the direction of the door to the basement lab. "I leave when he does," I remind him.

Zach looks puzzled for a moment, then recalls whom I'm speaking of, and why this would be the situation.

"Oh, right – and you can't drive--"

"Correction: I have no license."

He eyes me up warily, then clears his throat. "So, um... could you do me a favor? I ordered some food, but I did it a little late, so I'm guessing it'll be a while until it gets here. Could you possibly keep an ear or eye out for it? Here's the money..."

And as he struggles to pull the cash out of his dark lab coat without dropping anything else in his arms, I cringe and mutter, "Not fond of removing any body part for delivery men, but I _will_ answer the door when they come."

He hands me the cash and says, "Huh?" as if he hasn't quite heard me right.

I can tell the guy's still rattled, just by the idea of being alone with Sendhil, so Noel's support must not have been able to sink in very deeply. So I give it a try myself. I've no idea why. It might be interesting.

I lay a hand on Zach's arm, startling him – obviously I'm not well-known for being affectionate; in fact, the act of touching someone, even over their clothing, is a revolting sensation for me. So when he feels the slight pressure on his arm, he turns wide, stunned eyes to me.

But I remain non-plussed, saying quietly, "As I've known him the longest, and with more depth than others, let me give you a bit of advice about Sendhil: don't be discouraged by his lack of interest in _you_ at first; if there is a case to be studied, he does so fervently. Wait until he's simmered down a bit from the high of work to attempt anything of a social nature. Don't take it to heart if he barely acknowledges you in the same room, except if he's asking you questions about the case. He's in work mode. Perhaps once you're able to share a meal, he will loosen up a bit more. Once work is put aside, he is a devoutly good man with a giant heart and doesn't know _how_ to lie. And he truly cares about people. More than most people would."

Zach watches me steadily the whole time, nodding along with my words, absorbing them as if they are more crucial than the actual case.

When I release his arm, I add less intensely, "And by the way, Rich is still down there, so I suppose he's in conversation with Sendhil. Could you please ask him to come to my office as soon as possible – not to interrupt, but I have some very important issues to discuss with him about the stone."

Zach nods obligingly, and as he saunters off to the lab, I slink back into my office and perch on my chair, watching the front door to the lobby and waiting patiently for other people's food.

Rich

Despite my confusion when the tall, black-clad man – Zachary, I recall from his striking facial features, including his penetrating eyes – comes to the lab, insisting that Chris has summoned me to his office, I obey the request and leave Zach and Sendhil alone – though I'm not quite sure what else Chris could show me about the stone that we don't already know. Some of Sendhil's theories seem to have potential, but if there's been some kind of breakthrough, surely others would be notified as well.

Instead, when I reach the Artifacts Room, I find Chris slowly spinning in a chair, reminiscent of Noel's manic carnival ride from the meeting that morning, but calmer, lazier. In his mouth is what I can only guess is an egg roll, and two styrofoam containers sit on a desk just behind him.

I raise my eyebrows when he catches sight of me looming in the doorway, his twirling coming to a full stop to face me.

"You requested to see me?"

He nods, still chewing, but doesn't move – then holds out an egg roll to me as if threatening to stab me with it.

"Want one?" he offers around the food already in his mouth.

I hesitate; surely this has nothing to do with the stone. But I step inside and accept the roll, nibbling on it while eying him up suspiciously. He's since turned his back to me and fiddles with some papers on his desk – not very carefully away from the containers.

When he doesn't go on, I try again, "Zach said you had more information on the stone--"

"I made that up," he answers easily, still preoccupied with rearranging his desk.

I pause, staring at the back of his dark head, pondering what this turn of events could mean.

"So you have nothing for me?"

"I gave you the egg roll."

I roll my eyes and take a tearing bite out of it, munching away rudely. "So," I continue with my own mouth full now, "you called me up here for no reason?"

"For a reason."

I hold out my free hand. "Which is? _Besides_ the egg roll?"

He spins back to me. "To get you out of the lab."

I sigh, realizing the man's intentions. "So Zach and Sendhil could be alone."

He blinks slowly, as if tired, and nods while catching a string of cabbage and stuffing it back between his lips.

"You know," I huff, though not very bothered, "Sendhil and I were coming up with some promising theories, and to push that aside in order for personal affairs--"

"The stone can wait until later," Chris cuts me off blithely, licking his fingers clean as he finishes off the egg roll. "There's really nothing else we can do until we have it in our possession. Conjecture is useless at this point, unless we find solid evidence of its origins, and I've already given over my findings of that. Your team can't go out on an official mission to find it until tomorrow at the earliest, and hopefully with the information we've gathered, that means you _can_ leave tomorrow – but you'll still need to get Angel's approval for it. So there's really no rush on anything until this night is over."

I mull this over a bit, realizing he's being realistic and logical. But now that I know he really _doesn't_ have a valid excuse for calling on me, interrupting my discussion with Sendhil and making me come up here for nothing (but an egg roll), I feel an urge to, say, scratch back a little.

"So," I begin in a lazy drawl, "your name is Chris. The mysterious _Nispar_."

He nods, turning halfway back to his desk as his eyes scan over some of his ancient book collection.

"As far as Angel knows, you are of a pure-blooded line of that heritage, who has mastered both Light and Dark Arts."

He confirms again with only his head.

"So..." I lean back against the door frame, now back to nibbling my food. "No surname? Even Utars tend to have surnames – usually passed down through their more prominent heritage..."

He shrugs listlessly, running his fingers over the spines of his books as if searching for a particular one.

"`Chris' doesn't sound like a very pure-blooded Utar name, though. Surely it's not your _true_ name."

His only response is a sigh as he pulls out a large volume and sets it on his pointed knees, flipping through the pages with delicate fingertips.

"I know you live with Sendhil, too."

No need for a response this time; he must feel I merely state a random fact.

"As I understand it, you two have known each other for a very long time. Over a decade, correct? That's longer than this agency has been around. That's a long time to be working with one person."

He finally slows in his paging; I've gotten through, apparently.

"And considering you are – though not many know this – the youngest member of this agency, this suggests he met you while you were still... quite young. A child, perhaps?"

His movements stop and he lifts his head, peering at me sideways without turning his head. "Orphans – or war children, as they're often referred to – are not uncommon these days. They have been _quite_ common, in fact, for centuries."

I nod my agreement, but continue, "He's not _that_ much older than you, though. It makes me wonder why a man of only twenty would take in a barely fledgling teenager."

He remains utterly still, like a statue, his eyes trained on me.

I avert my gaze and take a few more steps into the room, letting out a sigh as I go on, "I've also heard some interesting rumors of strange and inexplicable activities from a decade ago. Something about a group of Bubble Hunters who suddenly broke apart for no apparent reason. And the biggest mystery is that two, to this day, cannot be accounted for."

He finally turns all the way around to me, eyes narrow and face stoic. I pop the rest of my egg roll into my mouth and chew slowly, patiently awaiting a response.

But all he has to say is, "My only reason for calling you here was to remove any obstacle from my friends finding a common ground to begin a hopefully fulfilling relationship."

"Let's not forget the egg roll."

He glares harder and insists, "You need not stay."

I smirk at his discomfort; though he doesn't show it, I can sense it – his words and obvious evasion of my hints are proof enough of this. So I continue.

"There were apparently only four legitimate members of that team; another was a student merely assigned to observe and eventually participate in a program involved in his educational advancement for a year. However, the notes from the missions, which were reported regularly back to the government of this area, allegedly mentioned a sixth presence among them. Never referred to as a member or a student, perhaps once named as a sort of `guide,' but mostly just a name that came up repeatedly as a valuable source of any accomplishments they made. Though no Bubbles were legitimately eliminated or harnessed, the reports alluded to other methods of... making them go away somehow."

Chris lifts his head more, his large eyes fixated on me in intrigue. "Quite thorough... for mere rumors."

I look him in the eye and asked pointedly, "What's your _real_ name?"

Strangely, his face gradually morphs from caution to an odd smirk and listless eyes.

"Well, it certainly isn't `Chris' – that's far too plain and Human for a pure-blooded Utar of _Nispar_ heritage."

Hearing my own words echoed back to me, but in his quiet, taunting tone, I feel a shiver in my spine – but not one I let show.

"Is that just what the others called you?" I press, curious to confirm my suspicions.

"What others?" he dodges coyly. "The others _here_ refer to me as such, yes."

I lean forward then, resting my palms on his desk and keeping my gaze steady on him. "I was using past tense."

He nods. "A sign of your grammatical knowledge--"

"The leader of this group was never found. Neither was his right-hand man, a Human who, before disappearing, apparently suffered common injuries when a Dark Arts expert unleashes a negative spell on a target – but this can't be confirmed either, as he's gone missing as well."

He nods despondently. "It's quite difficult to shake off a grudge from someone that dangerous."

More vague responses. I lean in further, inches from his face, aware of the proximity putting him on edge. "Did Sendhil save you from a government punishment? Or did he save you from a Dark Master's grudge?"

A long pause of absolute silence ensues, and I actually see his body tensing as I remain as I am, unwavering.

Until finally, Chris relents.

"Why do you want to know?"

At his eventual confirmation of my words, with so few of his own, I back away a bit, allowing him to breathe; that closeness can, at times, feel like torture to a _Nispar_.

"I'm only curious," I admit truthfully, the intensity of my voice gone now. "I have no ties to the government, and I don't intend to go advertising truths about rumors most have forgotten ten years later."

Chris relaxes; even his shoulders seem to droop as he accepts my explanation.

"Kar'ra Histr'ral."

I blink at him, finding myself uttering, "Pardon?" despite my trained ear knowing this is purely Utar in nature, especially with their common softly rolled R's.

"My name," he answers, and the way his large, round eyes peer up at me, black as night surrounded by pure white, with the dramatic upward sweep of the corners, they seem to me the perfect prototype of a Utar's features. Elegant, ambiguous, enigmatic – and slightly dangerous at the same time. "Kar'ra Histr'ral. The name my parents gave me – though I barely remember them. They were not bad parents – they were simply... _Nispar_ parents. They aren't the same as any of the others; abilities – or handicaps, depending on how one views them – we possess that others don't keep us from becoming too attached... unless circumstances change the ideal _Nispar_ situation."

I nod in understanding, watching him closely as he seems ready to talk, and slowly lower myself to my knees, looking up at him instead of down on him now – so he doesn't have to feel like I'm a threat.

His eyes remain on mine, however, as if this loathing _Nispars _have toward "closeness" is not quite as strong in him. He's seeking a connection with me, which is rare for one with his particular bloodline. And when he finds it, somewhere behind my own Human eyes, he continues in that low, haunting voice.

"The group found me before Sendhil was assigned to them. They never pronounced my name correctly, except Ginko – the only Human, if you can believe it," he adds with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "`Chris' simply sounded the most like my combined names. The others were all mixes of Utar heritage. But the leader was heavily driven by the Dark Arts. He even valued them above a pure-blooded heritage with active powers of that line."

I nod again for him to go on.

"The others felt I was a burden, but Ginko said he couldn't allow a child to wander the desert on his own."

"The desert?" I ask, unintentionally glancing toward the front door, visualizing in my mind the wasteland that lay beyond the edge of the massive city. "Between here and... where?"

"A small _Nispar_ village once called Sandraya."

I briefly close my eyes, recalling the name vaguely from the depths of my mind, years of studying and exploring. So this is a rare survivor of that attack...

"It was razed by Regime soldiers when I was nearly thirteen. I was small enough that I managed to hide away until the soldiers disappeared, and then I spent a few months surviving off of what was left. But eventually, I had to try to cross the desert. To come here."

"But you didn't make it on your own?"

"I could have. But the group of Bubble Hunters found me first. Since the deaths of so many Utars from that village, there was an outbreak, so to speak, of spirits invading this city – the closest hotspot, if you will, of living activity... much of it Human. The government surmised the Bubbles were coming from the desert, so they sent that group there to... eliminate them. Before more damage happened in the city."

I nod slowly, narrowing my eyes slightly as I begin to catch on. "But now you were among them, the ones trying to eliminate them – and these spirits... They were all your family, people you knew..."

Chris nods, emotionless. "I had little knowledge of what Bubble Harnessers did – I doubt any of them, the people doing it, knew what a harnessing actually _is. _It's a true elimination: an exorcism of sorts. The first time I saw one being carried out, I had to interfere – I intentionally sabotaged the mission. To see that kind of anguish, from a spirit... _Nispars_ are closer to that state of being on an emotional, metaphysical plane, so it was more horrific to see and _feel_ than any of them could understand.

"The leader was furious and wanted me gone, but Ginko refused, convinced I'd had a reason to ruin their attempt. I was difficult to communicate with anyway, but somehow I found a connection with Ginko. I tried to tell him what I'd seen – what _only_ a _Nispar_ could see during that operation. So he agreed to help me find other ways to lead them onward, toward their intended afterlives, instead of being obliterated. Our agreement was that I would help them find the spirits more easily than what their own senses or devices could pick up, and he would convince the others to try different methods.

"That was when Sendhil came. It took little time for him and I to connect, and he was astonished that this group let me travel with them – but pleased. He and Ginko acted as my surrogate brothers; the other two paid me little mind; but the leader abhorred me, though he tolerated me for Ginko's and Sendhil's sakes – not to mention I _was_ helping them find the spirits, despite not disposing of them in a way he approved of... meaning, he was unable to use his mastery of the Dark Arts."

Here, Chris pauses again, lowering his eyes from mine and looking suddenly sullen.

"I turned fourteen while Sendhil was with us. It wasn't long after that when everything... changed. And the group was forced apart. The other two made it back to the city, but were incoherent and died not long after they were hospitalized, so I hear. Ginko lost an eye and his hair turned white, but he survived. Sendhil was, thankfully, unharmed, as he'd been protecting me while the others fought. So the two of them brought me here, and Sendhil took me under his wing while Ginko went to Ysatnaf – to start over, he said, and so he wouldn't have to be hunted down and hounded by the government. He wanted us to go with him, but Sendhil knew he would be excused from any punishment because of certain details, and virtually no one even knew about me; Sendhil wanted to finish his studies here, and by then I'd become... attached to him, in a way that felt... unlike anything I'd felt for my own parents or village. I was torn, because I felt similarly toward Ginko, but I also didn't want to leave here. Despite all that had happened, it still felt like my home..."

"And _Nispars_ aren't keen on change," I add with a snicker.

He tilts his head forward, giving a small, knowing smile. "Of course not." He tilts back again, explaining further, "Sendhil was only a student, so his involvement, to the government's knowledge, was minimal. Plus, evidence showed he hadn't suffered any physical damage, so it was assumed he wasn't even part of the incident itself. But the cause of deaths of the two hunters who made it back to the city were unknown. No documentation was made of the incident, and the others didn't survive long enough to explain anything. Autopsies only uncovered a mess of internal and neurological injuries that could have been caused by multiple things – another person's powers, vengeful spirits, violent attacks on each other... The government had nothing to go on. Sendhil's studies were put on hold for over a year while the case was investigated. But Ginko had disappeared; they knew very little, if anything, of me, and Sendhil and I had agreed to keep Ginko's whereabouts a secret. It was the only lie I believe Sendhil ever told: that he didn't know where Ginko ended up."

I raise my eyebrows again, asking the obvious question: "And the leader?"

Chris pierces me with his sallow gaze again and merely replies, "He's gone."

I shake my head. "But gone where? Maybe I'm taking a leap here, but I'm guessing this had nothing to do with spirits – was it the leader who caused the incident?"

Chris purses his lips in thought. "I suppose," he answers carefully, cryptically, "that it could be valid to put it in those terms..."

I'm eager to hear the words about to come from his mouth – but the sudden knock at the door startles us both, twitching us in the direction where Zachary stands, looking confused.

"Did... Did the food come yet?" he asks timidly.

Immediately Chris drops the book on his knees to the desk and picks up the styrofoam containers.

"I apologize – Richard and I were caught up in a fairy tale."

As he accepts the food, Zach glances back and forth between us suspiciously. "Okaaaay..."

And on his way out of the room, he pops open one of the containers and notes, "It's gone cold now..."

I shrug. "Reheat it with the Bunsen burners."

Zach wrinkles his nose, but he knows he has no other choice; the microwaves and automatic cookers in the cafeteria are a joke. And I've only been here one day.

"Oh," Chris adds over his shoulder, "and they forgot the egg rolls."

Well, if Sendhil is the pure-hearted, painfully honest one, I suppose Chris has to take up the slack being the compulsive liar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency" Part 4 **

Noel

I'm sometimes a very impatient man, but even as Rich and I stand outside Angel's office, waiting for Seely to arrive, I get distracted by a figure sauntering by us quickly after climbing the staircaise. Despite knowing we have to talk to Angel as soon as possible this morning as a team for an investigation, the fact that Zachary comes in at his usual hour and is surprised to see me there, therefore deliberately tries to avoid me on his way to his office, makes me forget I'm exhausted and waiting irritably at all.

It _is_ an ungodly hour for me to be here, might I add; seven o'clock doesn't even register on my clock unless I've been up all night and am then ready to crash out for the rest of the day. Even Julian was bitching about us having to be there two hours earlier than usual (well, I'm allowed in whenever I feel like it, which is typically after ten, since I used to be a more freelance, when-needed employee; but since being put on an official team with a real case, I guess this means I'm to be more responsible – and Julian keeps me punctual) even though he _does_ have plenty of work lined up for him from Sendhil, who never seems to sleep, or at least can run on two or three hours of sleep like some hyperactive child when it comes to work.

I like to imagine him working madly at some at-home set-up laboratory away from his work one, at two in the morning, seething deliriously over some bubbly concoction with a wide, evil grin (even if it's hard to imagine Sendhil having an evil grin), while Chris dozes peacefully in a corner lounge chair or something, maybe just a zen-like stupor – sitting straight up with his knees to his chest, of course, just because it seems the perfect position for him. How a quiet, laid-back character like that ended up living with such an energetic spaz like Sendhil for so long is amusing – even longer than me and Julian I believe. Yet it seems like a perfect living situation. Like me and Julian at times – we keep each other on track, him forcing me to stay in when I have something important the next day, me dragging him out for a night on the town when we don't, instead of moping around the flat like some old geezer who only spends his time in a solitary daze of listening to jazz or writing music. We don't have to be productive _all_ the time.

Maybe our constant teasing gives the wrong impression, but actually Julian and I have a very good chemistry together. With his wry, dark humor and my over-the-top, unbelievable stories, we sync up quite well and make each other laugh stupidly at the absurdity of life constantly at home. We'll spend hours indoors when the weather's terrible, just babbling nonsense to each other and making up childish rhymes that make no sense. I guess I bring out the silliness in him, while he somehow induces a trace of logic to my joking that makes it even funnier when applied to the real world, outside the wacky one in my own head. Though we've remained friends for over a decade and have lived together for the majority of that time (I'd been evicted from my other flat for some ridiculous, chemically-induced shenanigans that cost me almost the entirety of my savings after ruining some apparently important but ludicrous statues in the lobby of the building in my frustration of spending too much time alone and cackling like a madman while I debased the pompous pieces of faux "artwork" - I'm a bloody _Avaraura_, I have a deep appreciation for _real_ art, thank you, and these thing were horrendous and deserved the abuse I gave them), even with the man-and-wife type bickering and making fun of each other, I think we have a good thing going. A blend of friends saving each other from ourselves, while also influencing the other with our polar opposite personalities. There are times, I sense, when the intensity or tedious relationship we uncover more each time we spend those manic creative nights together, that there's something a bit more to our connection than either of us want to admit. But whether it's my tendency to be a bit too outgoing and friendly with others to put out a vibe that I'd want that to go further, or his hesitancy or fear to admit to anything, we've never gotten past what we already have. I'd say it's more than just a family, sibling, odd couple friendship; but I can't really define our relationship yet. Even after so long.

Maybe we've just spent our lives going on this way without realising the passage of time. But I doubt I could live happily without him now, and I doubt he'd find any comfort without me in his life since we met. One of those things where we can't seem to be able thinking that our lives would have gone anywhere without ever having met. So when I got booted from my unfittingly posh living space (I'd only lasted three months there anyway, after spending years going from one friend's house to another after overstaying my welcome), he was the one to put out the offer to stay with him, surprisingly enough. I'd been so startled he'd want to put up with the likes of me, him having already picked up on my lifestyle and life philosophies, that I couldn't refuse him. And, well, I really _liked_ him, always wanted to get to know him more, and the chance to live with him (as long as he'd allow me to stay) was too tempting.

How shocked was I when he turned out to be even more easy-going than I'd imagined. I'd thought he'd give me the boot too after two weeks, at the most; the next thing we knew, eight years had gone by – and when we both started working for the same agency five years ago, I was sure it would go downhill fast, being around each other even _more_. Instead, I think we've gotten closer than before. His previous small irritations with me seemed to become part of daily life, and he put up with me with even less of a problem than before – almost expecting it by then, and with a bemused smirk. Whereas before, when I'd first moved in, me tumbling in at three in the morning drunk as a wino and almost incoherent, him graciously putting me to bed like a doting mother, we eventually became joined at the hip and stumbling home from bars or clubs _together_.

When those times began, we barely made it to our own beds, having no doting mother between us, but it felt more fun to wake up on the couch or floor, seeing him snoring softly away only a few feet away from me. Felt more _right_ somehow, than him "taking care" of me. He'd loosened up over the years, and I'd picked up some of his disciplined characteristics, so that I could actually _hold_ the job at the agency, however lenient Angel had been with me at first. But now I knew I had more responsibilities, and in my older, wiser age (30, to be exact, Julian only five years older), I felt ready to take it on. Like it was the next logical step in my progression into adulthood – though I still refuse to let go of a childish existence I wasn't quite able to have as an actual child or teenager. A past which _only_ Julian has known about, over drunken, too-emotional nights when we'd finished off bottles of wine and lamented our pasts and woes to each other; he'd been more concerned about my past than I'd expected him to be, and it was quite touching that he was so sensitive toward me about it, since I'd spent most of the night slagging him off and affectionately groping at him, knowing it'd make him uncomfortable, to be touched at all, and in public too.

Of course that could have been the alcohol too, but I felt like it was a genuinely given, though secret cuddle when he let me curl up in his arms on the sofa that night, let me warm up in his arms like we were actual lovers or something. I'm certain I fell asleep before he did, and I don't know how much sleep he'd gotten himself. We didn't speak of it much later, though I did shyly thank him the next morning for the comfort, but he just smiled whilst making breakfast and said there was no need for thanks, that that was what friends were for, tousling my hair like I was some kid brother – a different vibe than the night before, but warming nonetheless.

So basically, we have a deep kinship between us, and I don't even know if I would have survived my twenties without him; he admitted to me himself – again, one of those intimate nights indoors after too much liquor – that he probably would've topped himself eventually if he hadn't met me. Something similar to my own confessional night happened then, with him falling asleep in my lap whilst I stroked his hair and assured him, even as he slept, that I wasn't goin' anywhere and he could count on me for anything, even if I seemed unreliable. Hell, I'll say it now: I'd do anything for that bloke, and I'm admittedly quite self-centered, no matter how friendly and personable I am – a bit too vain at times, which I try to squelch after his influence of not caring so much about external validation and being my own person. Not worrying so much about being accepted. But now, I think I'd probably curl up and die if _he_ ever rejected me somehow. Anyone else, I might be devastated by, I might be offended by, or I wouldn't care, depending on the person. But if I ever lost _Julian_, I'd be lost and wouldn't want to go on.

A bit too revealing, maybe? There's no doubt in my mind I love him, and vice versa, no matter how much we bicker and tease.

How _much_... Well, we won't get into that. I've gone on far too much about our inseparable relationship, when I really just wanted to talk about the other one – Zachary, whom I met when he and Julian got the same office together when we all started here at the same time five years ago. I'd started out wanting just a part-time, as-it-comes gig, not wanting to commit, but found myself drawn back to it more and more – especially after Julian ended up working full-time and spent most of his days here, and after Zachary and I clicked as friends right away thanks to my knack for bonding with mostly anti-social types, wanting to bring out their full potentials others might not notice. It's just... some people are so amazing to me, and I wish everyone else could see how much they can shine, everyone deserves to shine, and even if they're shy about it, I think they appreciate a _little_ attention and justification of their hard work and talents.

Which is why I got on well with Zach and, similar to how I goaded Julian into getting out more, encouraged him to feed his secret loves, like painting and being more confident in his hunches on cases. Not to claim I'm the impetus of all their successes, but I truly believe I may have been at least a slight influence on their urges to prove themselves.

Besides, Julian truly is quite busy whilst working, especially being under Sendhil's _over_driven wing, so he's hardly ever in his office. Zach, on the other hand, spends most of his time there either surreptitiously working on his art or actual work, which tends to be more geared toward solving puzzles and logical anomalies (like the ring) that come up in cases the agency takes on. It's good he has the secret closet, too – keeps a balance between his creative side and his rational side, and any time he feels he's tipping too far to one end, he'll pause to re-balance himself.

And since I ended up spending more time at the agency than was necessary, when I couldn't interfere with Julian and Sendhil's work (even I know the limits, man, I'm not _that_ thick), I hung around Zach and "bothered" him, though he seemed to take a relieving pleasure out of it – having someone there to banter with. The first couple of months he seemed a little annoyed or uncomfortable, but after a while, he told me once, he felt odd during the times I wasn't around, like there was no one to talk to. And that's how I figured out his crush on Sendhil, because after getting into giggling fits with him over ridiculous possibilities of these case puzzles (me suggesting the clearly irrational while he played along, though the official reports would always stick to the _real_ answers), he would become stiff and serious, almost in shock whenever Sendhil came round – and he never did that with anyone else when they came in.

Oh, it was so obvious. He fancied the pants off the guy, was in awe of him, felt so inferior and unworthy – and Sendhil was oblivious! So absorbed by _work_ that Zach's shift of personality was lost on him. Of course, he never really _saw_ Zach in his looser state, so how _would_ he know? But after last night... Gods, I just _have_ to know!

I wave at Rich, silently conveying I'll be right back, and hurry after the sneaky bugger, who's obviously trying to get away from me. But just as he thinks he's safe, I jam my foot in the door before Zach can close it on me.

"_Ow!_ Knock it off!" I howl, even if my boot protects my foot from being severed. "C'mon, ya slag, quit tryin' to hide, let me in!"

After a bit of a tussle, Zach finally gives out and steps away from the door, which I immediately close behind me after I've entered the room. With Julian already downstairs in the basement lab with Sendhil, we have some privacy, so I give Zach a cheeky smile and ask, "So? How'd it go?"

Head low and acting as if he's more concerned with getting his jacket off, Zach mumbles incomprehensibly and moves behind his desk – like distancing himself from me will actually keep my prying questions at bay.

"Wot'sat?" I ask, coming closer and leaning over his desk. Intentionally making him more squirmy.

He huffs irritably as he nearly slams his jacket on the back of his chair – but the faint pink tinge on his cheeks tells me more than his sloppy cover-up.

I point to him as my grin grows wider. "Ahhh, something happened, didn't it?" I taunt him, sounding far more giddy about it than he seems.

"Yeah," he blurts out plainly. "We figured out the gemstone from the woman's remains was a family heirloom – a bloodgem still holding some powers of enhancement from her _Sheestraszah_ heritage. So whoever killed her was probably trying to get it to use it for some kind of purpose like reading minds. And the fact that a piece of it was missing either suggests it was broken during the fight, or the killer managed to get enough of it to use for whatever it was he or she needed. Yeah, we surmised that it probably wasn't a race-related hate crime, but something more intentional, made to look like a hate crime to cover up the true purpose--"

I cluck my tongue at him, rolling my eyes. "I don't care about _that!_ Whatever about the ring."

He stops fidgeting finally, hands on the back of his chair, and returns my expectant gaze with a very fake clueless one. "It's a big breakthrough! I suspect he already reported it to Angel as soon as he came in this morning because it changes the whole angle of the investigation! We have to get this speculation to the police, because it might be more up _our_ alley of knowledge than theirs--"

"No, no, no! Keep your own case to yourself, then! That's _not_ what I'm after here!"

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs innocently. "What were _you_ waiting for me to say?"

I hold my hands up in exasperation. "What the hell d'you _think_ I'm waiting for!? Anyone else in this entire agency would ignore the obvious and go for your ring theory – but it's _me_, Zach – what does that tell you I'm after!?"

The flush fades from his cheeks as he recovers from my nagging, a tiny smirk appearing in place of his focused smoulder, and he gestures to the half-full jar of chocolates on the corner of his desk. "Candy?"

I glare at him haughtily, hands on my hips, insulted that he would think so lowly of me – the day after a potentially hot night I'm clearly keen on hearing about, and he thinks I'd be distracted by mere... chocolate... candy...

For a long time, we stare each other down, and my will power is at the brink of crumbling. But I hold fast. Then his eyes flicker over to the candy jar. Inevitably, my resolve tips slightly, my own attention wavers, and as he goads me silently on, my eyes flit back and forth between the knowing face in front of me and the teasing jar beside me. And then I break.

I don't even realise how tight my lips have become, but as soon as I clamp onto the jar and grope for the delectable nuggets of euphoria, I feel my jaw relaxing. Zach giggles victoriously and slides into his chair as I stuff my mouth with the chocolaty sweetness.

But all is not lost – I may delve into the alluring abyss of tiny brown shapes with utter abandon, and he may think he's safe from my hounding whilst my mind is purely on sugar and satisfying the sweet tooth my dentist's bank account has an intimate relationship with; but he's sorely mistaken.

He's not safe at all. He's just given me more ammunition, in fact. I interject myself – literally – into his world, being blatantly obnoxious and attention-grabbing as I climb onto his desk and position myself lengthwise across it, like some saucy supermodel ad, my legs completely blocking any of his paperwork. I settle the jar comfortably on my crotch as I keep clawing into it for more early-morning pick-me-ups, and Zach's giggling ceases, replaced by an exasperated sigh.

"Will you get off my desk?" he groans, covering his face with his hands. "C'mon, I've got work to do, reports to write up--"

"Shut up about work," I order sternly – my words muffled by the candy. "I wanna know about you and Sendhil."

He peeks through the cracks between his fingers and notices where I've placed his jar. The cringe is obvious even behind his flesh-and-bone shield. "Once you're done clearing out my only source of energy, please have the courtesy to _wash_ it before you refill it. Preferably with something stronger than soap – maybe even melt it down and remodel it, as the heat will likely kill anything that hops onto it while you defile my property."

"Wot?" I challenge him, and just to annoy him further, I press it down harder, wriggling a bit. "This make you sick, eh?"

He closes his eyes and groans again, this time without words.

"Mmm," I taunt, getting a bit too into it myself. "Just love that hard glass against me leather trousers--"

"Okay!" he exclaims, waving his hands in the air in defeat. "If I tell you, will you stop being so... so... _perverse?_"

I halt my rocking hips and smile at him – then offer him the jar. "There's still some left..."

But Zachary lurches away, not wanting to touch the now tainted glass jar, and blurts out, "We spent most of the night working out the mystery of the ring. I swear it! And then we confirmed my suspicion..."

I raise my eyebrows when he trails off. And when he hesitates to continue, I reach down to undo the zip on my trousers. "Wonder what it feels like without the barrier of leather..." And Zach knows when I wear pants that tight that _aren't_ jeans, I don't bother with undergarments...

"We talked!" Zach hollers before I can degrade his jar any further. "We had our dinner, which we _did_ have to reheat with the Bunsen Burners, thanks to Chris's laziness, and we talked..."

I continue holding the glass over myself as a constant threat – even though only part of my abdomen is visible. But he knows I'll do it, I'll go all the way if I need to.

"We just... talked for a long time while we ate," he goes on, halfway between wanting to look away from the frightening sight of me partially undressed, and wanting to keep an eye on his candy dish. "And we started talking about... personal stuff... It got a bit... well... awkward, but not painful..."

I tilt my head slightly. "Did you kiss him?"

His eyes finally settle on mine, and the dark look in them holds a slight hope.

"No," he confesses reluctantly, "but... I think... I have a feeling... we... connected a bit."

I wave the jar menacingly.

"I mean it!" he exclaims, and the roundness of his eyes and desperation on his face prove he's not lying. "We... Okay," he grunts, slumping back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "No, we didn't _kiss_, but there were moments... certain looks... _meaningful_ looks... It felt like there were a few times we might... At least, that's how _I_ perceived it."

I can't help but give a sly little smile. "Aw – so you went for the sweet, romantic, getting-to-know-you approach. That's noble of you."

"Yes," he hisses. "Which is what I _wanted_. I genuinely want to... _connect_ with him – and not how you or Russell define it!"

I cackle at the bluntness of his words, throwing my head back. "Not _yet_ anyway, right?"

To which he has no rebuttal except a glower.

But when I collect myself again, I turn slightly on top of his desk, forgetting about my exposed abdomen, and press, "So what was the end result? Any chance for another... _encounter?_ Maybe an actual _date_ this time?"

He grumbles incoherently, eyes locked on the jar – or maybe my tummy – and then I realise I'm unconsciously brushing the glass over my skin.

Feels quite nice, actually. So I do it some more, deliberately, as if it's some mutated cousin of a lap dance.

"Stop that," he orders, cheeks flushed again, no doubt recalling my admittance the day before of my physical attraction to him he hadn't been aware of before. But, as I'd said then, I wouldn't act on it – it'd just be weird at this point.

I giggle and threaten to lower it to my crotch again, and Zach is suddenly quick to answer more clearly, "We're going to have lunch together this weekend – _away_ from work."

My jaw drops, eyes wide, and then I scoff. "Well, bloody hell, Zachary, I think you actually made a good impression on him!"

But instead of basking in the glory of my praise, he starts trying to swat me off the desk.

"Yeah, and if he were to come in here right now, he'd _definitely_ get the wrong idea, so will you _please_ stop doing that!?"

"Oh, right!" I gasp, and shuffle off the desktop whilst fixing my trousers with one hand, the other still holding the now empty jar.

"Well," I sigh as I head for the door, "that's some good news to lift my spirits today. Think I'll need it, too." I make a face of disdain and explain, "Gotta go do some actual _work_ now. Starting with the sleazy pawn broker down the street. I hate that cunt – always eyes me up like I'm steak in boots whenever I have to go in there." I shudder minutely.

Zach gives a mock look of sympathy. "Poor you. When you could be decorating the lobby with glittery stars. And here I thought you _liked_ being leered at..."

I catch him off-guard when I toss the glass jar at him, sending him into a fumbling tizzy to keep it from falling and shattering on the ground.

"Watch it with the teasing," I remark with a wink as I open the door to leave. "You know where that jar's been."

He instantly freezes, cringing, then carefully places the thing on his desk like the jar itself has herpes. "Think I'll go get some gloves and antiseptic--"

"From Sendhil, I suspect," I note, as the lab is the perfect place to find such necessities – not just for the lab, but since Sendhil's got healing powers and is technically a doctor of sorts, he's also added a small wing for medical needs. Got a cot and equipment and everything after Angel's approval and a bit of funding from a local hospital kind enough to donate some unused machines – another perk to having him here, as he'd worked there for a year and has connections.

I smile brightly at the thought of another chance for Zach to communicate with his crush. "Lucky you! Just don't mention you suspect the object in question might be riddled with various viruses – which they _aren't_, I assure you. But if it'll ease your mind..."

"Yeah, lucky me," he mutters – unconvincingly – as he makes his way from his desk to the door. "Having _you_ as a friend. I'm amazed I haven't gotten crabs just by standing next to you yet. And if I come back up here to find one little bugger on my work report, I'll lock you in my closet for a month," he adds as he starts to leave.

"Long as I have that mirror in there with me that you tried to hide, I'll keep busy for that period. Oi! And I do _not_ have crabs!" I yell thoughtlessly at his back as he heads for the staircase – and when I see both my partners outside Angel's door, now waiting for _me_ impatiently, and notice the lobby below us, with several coworkers and clients scattered here and there, all looking up toward the source of that proclamation – well, I decide to be clearer.

"Nor do I have _any_ sexually transmitted disease, of _any_ kind! I may be a cheeky tart, but I am _not_ a slut!"

And despite the barely audible, "Not anymore, anyway," from Zach, I nod to myself proudly, ignoring the curious or disgusted stares, and join my team by Angel's door.

I won't let on about it, as he's just made a flippant guess, but he's got no idea just how close to the truth he is. I just wouldn't share that with him – or anyone... apart from Julian. It's not something I'm proud of, but as I said, I had to grow up fast as a youngster, and desperation can drive one to do things even someone like me would cringe away from. But I don't want to get into that – another period in my life I like to leave behind, to live instead in the fun times of the moment at hand, when everything is safe and I have a place to live and a legitimate, legal job that doesn't degrade me anymore. All I can say is, I _am_ bloody lucky I ended up being able to say that with truth and dignity.

"Well," Seely chuckles when I approach them, "that's a bit of knowledge that's reassuring – though I doubt many people here needed to know. I guess Russell _hasn't _gotten to you as much as we thought."

Little does he know – Russell's a bloody saint next to what I had to go through. But I let the comment slide. I certainly wouldn't make Russell aware of my teen years – that would just send _him_ into depths I wouldn't want to be reminded of.

"Reassuring, yes," Rich concurs disinterestedly, "but hardly useful to our priority."

Thank the gods someone's interested in something more valued than my icky childhood – and I find myself irrationally irritated that the reminders have come up in my brain. So I charge full-on into the mission to push away the pain of it all, the hatred I'd had for myself, even that ultimately comforting night spent in Julian's arms after recounting the scarring past I'd had. Just because one has _Szeduszair_ genes in them doesn't mean they have to use them all the time – but it certainly helped during that time. I much prefer the stronger _Avaraura _abilities over the other now, and cater to them more. It's just more productive and positive for my mental state.

Yes, as if it's not obvious by now, I was a prostitute for several years when I was younger. How shocking is that? Not very, I'm guessing. But it wasn't exactly a choice for me, I'll have you know. But I'm a grown child now, so let's forget the bad stuff and focus on the playful aspects of life. Like having to investigate this loathsome sleaze pawn broker who makes me feel like that cheap whore every time he looks at me. Making me wonder if he was one of my johns ages ago who recalls it fondly, whilst I try to forget every face I ever saw back then.

"Oh, come on, then," I urge them, and knock on the door before either of them have the chance. "Let's get this bloody bullshit started already."

Charge ahead, I say. Get a lead from the gross geezer and get the hell out of that shop as soon as possible.

Jen

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing in this place. There are so many reasons for me to leave – so many _people_ here I just don't understand, _can't_ stand, people I even fear or _hate_. But when I see that warm, smiling face coming up to me every day, whether he realizes it or not, Seely's presence alone keeps me here.

Even if I have John at home, it's Seely's face that keeps drawing me back to the agency. Plus my daddy would be furious if he knew I'd left a job – I've always known I would inherit his fortune, but a daughter walking out on a job is certainly bad for a reputation, and I listen to everything my daddy says.

Being with John is like a habit, and even if we rarely have sex anymore, I can't help but imagine Seely's face on him when it _does_ happen. There are rumors that John sees other women on the side, but as much as it annoys me to hear it, I pretend to ignore it – at least I'm able to live with a man, unlike _some_ women who try to act like they're better than everyone else just because she adopted a child that wasn't her own, _on_ her own. That's just irresponsible, if you ask me. Doesn't sound like "family" as I know it.

Besides, my daddy likes John – a proper Utar with a steady job as a studio musician. The job isn't outrageous, so it's not like some seedy rock 'n roll lifestyle I have to cover up for the reputation of our family. Some idiots around the agency say it's just because he doesn't have the talent to be a successful musician on his own, a "_real_ artist," but I don't see any of _them_ in the entertainment industry. I don't even see any of them with any instruments.

Well, Chris has some odd equipment in his office, behind his desk and between the stacks of books and eerie-looking jars of various artifacts and keepsakes, that reminds me of some things I've seen in the studio John works for, but I suspect he's just holding onto it all for someone else, or they're now useless pieces from prior investigations that have nowhere else to go. He probably never goes near them. Though there are noises which come from that room sometimes when the door's closed that I simply don't recognize, and I'll come home from work with a nice melody in my head, which John usually drives out with his own work. I get confused because I'm a little sad when the melodies go away and I hear John's voice in place of it.

But none of that really matters, as my true love – which is my own little secret – is Seely. He may not know it, but his presence in the same room as me simply makes my heart beat faster and my knees weak.

Although there are times when I get a bit mixed up and realize it's Angel giving me directions. They just look so much alike, it's as if they're twins or something.

My boss can be very demanding at times, but I rush to keep up with him. Trying to take down details of future meetings and schedules, getting the right callback numbers from people wanting to see him, and all the freaks who work here, or just _for_ us, can become hectic in my brain.

This new guy, Rich, is a little creepy, because even within the first two days of him being here, he barely speaks, just comes in and goes down to his office before shooting back upstairs – without my permission – to Angel's. Sendhil's the same way, but I'm not so sure I trust him anyway, seeing as his skin is so dark, so I think he's from a pretty bad lineage of Utars. I'm not sure of all the branches of our race, but I think there are a few that have bad things about them, and he's got to be one of them. And when he gets so wrapped up in his work that he doesn't answer my calls down to the lab, and I end up having to talk to some man I don't think I've ever seen who claims to work here – it just gets me frustrated.

Zachary – there's another one I'm not sure of, being of a mixed breed. I mean, my mother may have been Human, but it wasn't _my_ fault Daddy divorced her for a more beautiful, more appropriate fit for an astute Utar such as him. Some people used to tease me for being mixed myself, so I started acting like and telling people that I'm pure-blooded, forgetting my real mother and taking on my stepmother as my true one. And she's very much a proud Utar, and that influences me a lot on so many levels. Even she doesn't know I'm half Human, my father and I agreed to never tell her. So she and Daddy raised me just as a Pure-blood, and that other half isn't even part of me anymore.

Unfortunately, like Zachary, I don't seem to have any active Utar powers, but that doesn't mean they're not there. Daddy says sometimes they develop later in life, and I trust him. (Besides, I've overheard Seely say the same thing, so it must be true.)

Even if that doesn't happen to me, though, once I end up with the strong, handsome Utar Seely, all will fall into place for me. So I'm not worried when I see him bringing Maddox – Maddy – Mad – whatever his pseudo-mother calls him – back from the playground a few days a week while his mother ignores him to do "work" with other families. I know he's just preparing himself for becoming a father to _our_ children. Our _natural, biological_ children together.

Despite my love of his gorgeous physique and the telltale signs of strong _Utral_ powers, I don't think active powers are really all that matters. Though with Seely, it definitely gives him an edge I find myself drawn to. I don't know if Daddy would approve of him, but yes, I would even give up my father's respect to be with him. As long as I still inherited the fortune, of course – that's just logical.

But Seely's not like that other guy, Zach, who's about as tall as my Seely, but thinner. That man's eyes are creepier than most others around here. I won't even get into how loathsome Spike can be, and no, it doesn't matter if he's a tamer, Human version of that white-haired prick: James is dirty just by association.

And Russell – that obnoxious Gypsy who never seems to bathe – he's downright _scary_, even with his calling me "love" and "pet," like he's trying to be nice or something. The man is disgusting, with his leering grin and mysterious winks. Sometimes I think he likes me, while others I think he's teasing. But I find him absolutely revolting. Has he never heard of a hairbrush!? If you're going to keep it that long, surely you can brush it!

And speaking of hair – I was quite insulted when, at last year's Landing Day party, Noel was voted Prettiest Woman at the Office. Over _me_. But at least Angelina didn't win it (though rumors were that everyone else had agreed beforehand to vote for Noel – even Angelina herself).

I would say Noel is a charming guy, but he just puts me off in a strange way. Like when he crawls into the office on his hands and knees, sneaks up to my desk, then jumps up suddenly and shouts "Boo!" I see him coming, and he still manages to make me shriek.

He wears these outfits, too, that sometimes make him _look_ like a lady. Maybe he _is_ a transvestite or something, and somehow – maybe by his own big mouth – everyone knows he's one of those freakish bi-genders that are getting more attention these days. A horrible mutation of the Utar race, my daddy and mother and I agree; another sign that something – probably _Humans_ – are tainting our world. It's been said the first bi-genders were born before Humans even came here, but I don't know how much I believe that, since Daddy never said if it was true or not.

No one else here seems to mention Noel's faults, though, so I suppose wherever he's from, wearing a tee shirt and tight jeans one day and a dress with tight leggings the next is common. Thankfully, I don't _know_ where he's from, so I won't be going there anytime soon.

He's always nice to me, though, very pleasant, and has a sweet smile – but his stealing my candy (and nearly my job once) and incessant randomness just ruins the charm for me.

But he does have lovely hair, unlike that ragged Gypsy friend of his.

And then there's Chris. Tiny, skinny, frail-looking, barely even worthy of the title of a "man" Chris, who wears gloves all the time, even when standing by the door to his office (which is unbearably close to my desk) munching on an apple and seeming to stare me down. I sometimes wonder if he's not one of those sexually ambiguous, mixed-up abominations too, with how he looks and acts, but mostly I try not to think about him at all – which is pretty difficult when he's right there every day.

Chris, with the ridiculous big eyes that seem to see nothing at all, like a cartoon character, yet people go to him all the time and come out of his office looking like they have an answer. He's probably the _strangest_ one here – not that the others don't have their faults and flaws, but as for quirks and demeanors, definitely the _strangest._ Despite Noel.

I blame it all on his _Nispar_ heritage. I could never stand that race, how quiet and mysterious they are. On a hot, sunny day he'll come in wearing a heavy black trench coat and top hat, while on days when it's snowing outside, he'll wear a skin-tight shirt that has only one strap over one shoulder – no coat or hat or anything, except black leggings under a traditional _Nispar_ sash, long and split at the sides worn around his barely existent waist.

I've never seen him smile, he usually walks around in either ridiculous boots or bare feet, and he rarely responds when you try to speak to him, even when you call him by his name. Like it's a name he doesn't connect with or something. I've heard Sendhil call him something else sometimes, which he always responds to immediately, but I can never catch what it is. He'll even step away when you're trying to ask him something – just like a _Nispar_, to keep a distance from anyone else. Except, of course, Sendhil, but we all know they've lived together for ages, so that's something you can pretty much expect. Weird, how he'll shy away from everyone else (but thankful, in my eyes, so I don't have to deal with him myself), but he'll act like Sendhil is the only person in the room sometimes. The only one he can actually focus on. Not in a gross, Russell-like way, but like a kid watching his mother to see how she does things.

I guess, in a way, like I did with my "step"-mother, only his reactions seem to be more subdued, or curious, rather than absorbing how one _should_ act. This could be a good thing as well, as Sendhil is, in my eyes, a bad influence. I wonder if that's what's driven Chris to be as shadowy as he is, hiding behind Sendhil's oblivious but outgoing nature, or if that's just him.

And then there's the streetrat, as I like to call him. The one who's barely ever here, thank the gods, but when he is, I wish he'd just go away. Almost six feet tall, sinewy but muscular at the same time, body covered in various tattoos. A mere Human but goes around town hanging out with anyone, probably picking up diseases we've never heard of yet. Even with his gorgeous blue eyes and whimsical smile, I'm not taken in by this tramp. His clothes are always ragged, hair always unkempt, face always stubbly...

Actually, okay, I can see why others might think he's attractive – but not even his typical sunny attitude – similar to Noel's – can push out of my head that this guy's a bum. Oh, they say he lives with someone, but I doubt that's true. If anything, or anyone, just some sleazy, trampy whore who fucks him every night as payment for crashing there.

Wait – does that make it sound like sex with him is a good thing? Oh, I'm confusing myself.

He usually contacts Angel from the street, again thank the gods, but today, almost half an hour after the two other weirdos leave with my lovely Seely, Simon comes rushing in – uncharacteristically not smiling or pleasant. He slams against my desk, panting noisily like he's just run a few miles and eyes huger than usual, and I'm about to yell at him for being so rude.

But before I can get one scolding word out, he demands in that Earthling Scottish accent, "Where's Angel? Is he here? I gotta see him, right away, right now, whatever he's doing – _now!_"

I can barely tell, but there seems to be a trickle of red streaming down the side of his head, slightly smudged against his cheek.

But if he's got some kind of wound, it's of no matter to me - at his freakishly new panicked, almost angry demeanor, my walls crumble – oh, the pressure of this job!

Before I can finish tearing up over getting yelled at by _Simon_, a soft voice comes from the direction of Chris's office.

"He's here. What's wrong?" And then a crunch from his apple.

Simon spins to Chris, as I remain frozen and don't know what to do, and walks over to him quickly, as if none of Chris's odd attributes are off-putting at all.

"He's upstairs?" he asks, as if talking to him is just like talking to anyone on the street. But I guess practically _living_ on the streets, he's used to any type of person. "Atmosphere's too thick today, couldn't get through by cell, communicator's fucked from some bastard smashing it over me head when I tried to get more info, but I need him _now_, ran all the way from Fortez Road to get here..."

Chris nods, still chewing, round eyes focused on Simon steadily – and then, within a second, his chewing slows and he blinks, as if one heaving, wordless breath Simon lets out tells him everything.

"It's bad," Chris notes. "I'll come with you." And he tosses the rest of the apple into my garbage can – _my_ garbage can – as he follows Simon up the stairs – though slower than Simon's leaping two-at-a-time race. Guy must've been running for a while, but he's still got energy.

"You're bleeding," Chris calls to Simon's back. "I'll stitch you up after seeing Angel..."

But Simon calls something indecipherable back over his shoulder, something about importance or unimportance, and barges into Angel's office with little concern over his injury.

And after that hysteria is over, I take a deep breath and settle myself back into my chair. So Simon went and got himself into some kind of trouble, I guess? Figures. Always knew that guy was trouble.

But only minutes later, as I'm trying to paint my manicured nails, the phone beeps and Angel demands in a flustered tone, "Jen, connect me through to Seely's communicator."

I try to pick up the receiver daintily, so as to not scuff my nail polish, and ask, "How do I do that? Don't you have his number--"

"Not his cell, Jen," Angel snaps, "his _communicator!_"

I can hear Simon in the background exclaiming, "I just _said_ right in _front_ of ya, it's too fucked out there today for cell signals to get through properly--"

"Cell phones have a hard time picking up signals in this atmosphere," Angel explains in an impatient tone, "and today's apparently a bad one. And if the team's being led where I think they are, they won't get my call – the communicator operates on frequencies that are more compatible with the fluctuating atmosphere of the planet--"

"Give me that," comes the Scottish voice, and Simon hurls at me through the receiver, "this ain't no time for a tutorial on technology, Jen, just connect one of Angel's lines to Seely's frequency on the board in front of you. You're in front of it every bloody day, aren't ya? Shouldn't be so bloody hard to--"

Shaken, I try to look through the blur of letters and numbers, and Angel snatches the phone back from Simon's irritable insults to talk me through it – though he doesn't sound very pleased himself that he has to.

I muddle through the directions, phone crushed between my ear and shoulder, still-wet nails fumbling with switches and buttons. But even as Angel speaks to me, there's a click from upstairs – Angel's office door opening slowly – then soft, delicate footsteps descending the staircase. A second later, Chris leans over my desk, startling me so the receiver falls to the floor, and with a sharp glare from his creepy black eyes – even _he_ seems annoyed, which is unusual – he hunches over, snags a cord from my phone, and snaps it into a certain plughole, reading the scrambled numbers and labels upside-down as if glancing through a children's book. Then he flips a switch with his gloved finger and starts coming around the desk.

I slide my chair back sharply when I realize where he's coming, banging against the wall behind me in the process. He sighs wearily as he kneels down and picks up the receiver, telling Angel dully, "You're connected. Booth should get a transmission alert in five seconds."

"Thanks, Chris," I hear Angel's voice on the other end again. "Now teach _Jen_ how to do it."

Chris glances up at me through a veil of black hair over one eye, seeing my stricken face, and a smirk just barely peeks through on his mouth. "I think Jen's had enough of me today. Maybe Angelina can show her later. I suspect even she has more knowledge of communicator switchboards."

I don't know if he's trying to help or aggravate me. Getting him out of my space – positive. Having _Angelina_ give _me_ a lesson on _anything?_

Don't even get me started on that witch...

Chris stands and holds the receiver out to me. "Would you like some antibacterial wipes from the med lab to clean my heritage from it first?"

I stare up at him fearfully; of course I've never been very covert about my dislike for some of these people, especially him, but at the direct accusation, I find it difficult to answer truthfully. When I don't answer at all, though, he cautiously places the receiver on my desk and offers over his shoulder as he starts toward Sendhil's basement, "Don't worry, I'll get it. And I promise to bring the entire container. With different gloves. So you won't be infected by my intelligence."


	5. Chapter 5

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency" **

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Noel

It's annoying as hell, having to come into this putrid shop run by an even more putrid owner, who recognises me as soon as we get in the door. Seely doesn't seem to have been in here before, nor does Rich, but at least the Human doesn't get distracted by all the second-hand trinkets and horrible-quality goods on display like Seely does. Rich is all business, ignoring the pawn broker's glint of glee at my presence and his attempts to make some lame come-on lines despite my look of disdain. This is the only place I don't get lured in by all the shiny jewelry and trendy clothes – because I know how most of it was gotten, and I may be a bit more into fashion than the typical person ("obscenely," as Ju once put it), but I don't condone mugging or murder just to get pretty things. Even I have my morals, loose as they may be. Helps that I know "their" tactics from first-hand experience – and I'm no robber, if that tells you anything about _my_ side of it.

As Rich tries talking to the guy, who's distracted even by my frozen, statuesque demeanor, keeping on with sneering that repulsive grin at me, Seely seems preoccupied himself – but not by my inverted, stony appearance. Instead, he's more interested by some of the small weapons for sale inside the glass counter. He interrupts Rich's questions – of Bainbridge's whereabouts, if he's been around with a stone that looks anything remotely like the picture we have – demanding to know if the guy has a license to sell such dangerous items. I have to have a glance myself, preferably without moving too much besides craning my neck a little, but the typical knives and daggers are all I can make out. I'm really not sure if that's "illegal," but Seely knows more about this stuff than I do, and Rich is blocking part of the counter, so maybe there are some small handguns in there as well that I just can't see.

While Rich is exasperated that he's been cut off, I'm relieved, because suddenly the shop owner gets edgy and forgets all about me, stammering over Seely's scathing questions that he doesn't _need_ a license to sell second-hand items – he doesn't even know where half the stuff comes from.

All lies, I'm sure, but even if he _does_ need one and doesn't _have_ one, Seely's not an official police officer – though he could very well report it, and having the cops' eyes closed in on one shop could mean an immediate shut-down for _this_ prick. And the prick knows it, even if he doesn't know Seely.

The smouldering menace to the _Utral_'s eyes must make the owner nearly shit bricks, because within seconds of Seely letting him off with a warning – if he cooperates, he won't be reported to the police to be selling obviously illegal items – my being there is completely out of the sleaze's mind and he pays more attention to Rich's questions. The two of them listen intently as the guy swears up and down he's never seen this stone before, and in fact, he hasn't seen Bainbridge in over three weeks, at least.

Good teamwork, I note to myself as I realise Seely's interruption was more to get the guy's attention off me and talking instead, rather than to actually threaten his livelihood.

Just as something seems to click in the dope's head and he's going to say something important, the communicator at Seely's hip beeps several times, signaling an urgent incoming call. Seely, obviously aware of my discomfort just _being_ there, snaps the device off his belt and tosses it to me, nodding for me to take the call outside.

With a breath of relief, I leave the stuffy, smelly shop and answer the call, which turns out to be a mildly panic-stricken Angel – who is also mildly surprised to hear my voice instead of his brother's. But he's easily recovered and goes on anyway.

"Noel, did you get anything off the pawn broker yet?"

"No, not yet," I admit, "but the others are still grillin' 'im, and he looked like he was just about to tell 'em somethin' useful before you ca—er, ra—er, signaled us. Why, something happen we should know about?"

"Yeah, get Seely right away, I have to talk to him directly."

But I _tsk_ and stomp my foot like a child, whining petulantly, "Aw, why can't ya tell me? I'm not _Seely_ but I _am_ part of the team--"

"This concerns his knowledge more than yours, trust me--"

"But he's still interrogating the, uh, suspe--"

"The pawn broker isn't a _suspect_. Just get Seely on the communicator, will you?"

I peek in the shop window and notice the intensity on the others' faces as the pawn broker holds the picture and blabs away.

"It looks like they're gettin' somethin' from 'im--"

"Fine, okay, whatever," Angel sighs forlornly – but then launches on in a rush, "but keep the signal on, don't cut out until I've talked to Seely. Simon just informed us, Bainbridge is dead."

Maybe he's expecting some Doomsday music to play in the ensuing pause of silence, or maybe he expects me to gasp or something. But I simply blink at the communicator in vague surprise, raising my eyebrows. "Really? Hm. Oh well – hey, there's one more pain in the arse scumbag out of the way, right--"

"No, you don't get it!" Angel roars, making me jump. "This changes so much about the case, which is why I need to talk to _Seely!_"

Shaken by Angel's state, I assure him I get it (though I really don't) and pop my head back inside to signal Seely to take the call. Confused, and obviously reluctant to break the conversation with the pawn broker (but Rich will keep him talking, I'm sure), he comes outside with me and listens to what Angel has to say with a steely look on his face, nodding curtly.

(Seely – steely – that's just too funny...)

"Got it," he states after Angel's few words – as if he catches onto something I don't. Which I know he does, naturally. But, well, I'll wait for him to explain it for me later. "And I thought you'd like to know, the broker hadn't seen him in weeks, but the last time he was here, he _was_ bragging about getting his hands on a present that could fetch them both loads of cash – probably the stone."

"So," Angel surmises, "Bainbridge was most likely searching for the thing for someone else, but before giving it over to this person – who I'm guessing is either unreliable, hence Bainbridge being so blase about it, or very dangerous, even in Bainbridge's eyes... So he probably didn't want to have to face him after all. Maybe he hadn't considered the possibility that he _would_ succeed in finding it. But he was always more boast than fact, everyone knew that. Knowing the way he worked, he was gonna sell it off to the broker and claim he couldn't find it to the person he was working _for_."

"But," I add absently, "looks like whoever this dangerous dude is, he got to Bainbridge first. Did us all a favour."

There's a pause, and I realise Seely's staring at me in shock – and the silence on the other end of the communicator suggests Angel reflects the same sentiment; that sentiment being one of surprise that maybe I was paying attention after all.

"What?" I ask dumbly. "I got _some_ brain cells left, y'know. Got _some_ reasoning skills... sometimes..."

Seely recovers and says into the device, averting his eyes from me as if it's an apology for his reaction, "I guess this means we should go find Bainbridge's hideout or home or whatever, snoop around before the cops can--"

"Simon's already got the info on where Bainbridge was staying. I'll send it over now – but you'll have to decode it; I don't want to risk anyone else getting hold of it before you guys."

And as Seely deciphers the encrypted file Angel sends to the device (and I stand a few feet away, fearful that just being near the thing will make it pop and fizzle out or something, knowing my luck with technology – I'm faintly aware of my success in speaking to Angel at all through the thing, and feel I'm tempting fate at this point), Rich comes out of the shop and I fill him in on what's going on. He nods patiently and looks to Seely.

"We got an address?"

"Directions and everything," Seely confirms. "Simon's a pretty useful digger, if you ask me. Let's get moving – we have to beat the cops to it. Angel said so far no one's called in a report that he knows of – luckily Si's legs are faster than others' attentions _or_ police cars – but now that Angel has the info, he _has_ to call – he's just stalling for time. We're a few steps ahead of them by now, but we have to try and be as fast as Simon to _keep_ it that way."

I hold up my hands, then, startling them both.

"Er – why're we goin' to Bainbridge's?"

And that indignant air from earlier dissipates when they both give me that familiar but silent "Are you stupid?" look.  
Thankfully, Rich shakes himself back into function first and explains, "To find any evidence on who this person is he was supposed to be working for – you know, finding the stone, it was most likely a deal because whoever the `bad guy' is who's _really_ looking for it, maybe he has reasons he can't go looking on his own. Or just having more eyes than his own would be helpful. Something like that. Bainbridge wasn't supposed to be after this gem for his own gain – he was working _for_ someone, and we need to find out who that someone was."

"And you're right, Noel," Seely reinforces, "this bastard must be the one who killed him. So that means the so-called `bad guy' has what he wants, if Bainbridge managed to find it. We have to figure out who it is, find him, and get the thing away from him before he goes mental with the power it possesses."

I nod shyly. "Okay – just... wanted to clarify..."

Damn, do I feel stupid now.

But Seely slaps me on the shoulder – nearly sending me to the pavement – and grins. "It's okay, little guy. We'll keep you up with us if you need it."

Rich is checking his watch anxiously. "Yeah, but we'd better get there quick – Angel's stalling for our benefit, but for all we know, the cops may have gotten a report on the body another way by now. Sendhil can stall them more by requesting to be there for the autopsy, but that doesn't affect other aspects of their new investigation."

I clap my hands to show I've regained my confidence and urge them, "Well, we're not gettin' there any faster by standin' 'round here talkin' 'bout it, are we?"

Rich nods. "Good point."

Seely turns to look down at me and my platform boots. "Want a piggyback?"

I scoff at him and take the lead. "I've done unimaginable feats in heels, thanks--"

(Feats – heels – feets – get it?!)

But I cut off when I hear Seely's voice further away than before. I spin around to see them heading in the opposite direction.

"It's this way, Paul Stanley!"

"Oh," I mutter, jogging to catch up to them. "Right."

I would've preferred "Ace Frehley," to be picky about it...

Sendhil

Even after years of working and living alongside Humans, I still am, like, startled when I see how red their blood is. My kind – even Halfies – we all have silver blood, so it's off-putting to see the bright red smudges on my gloves as I finish stitching up the side of Simon's head and try to wipe some of the, like, sticky mess away. Even while his head is bobbing and swiveling around as he talks to Angel.

When Chris came down earlier to get medical supplies, I had to know what had happened – good thing I asked, too, because even with gloves on, Chris being that close to someone might be more, like, draining for _him_. (But see? I told you he was sweet – he would have risked that danger in order to help Simon out.) He knows _how_ to do stitches, has watched me and practiced on various fruit, but I'm a tad, like, overprotective of him that way, so I went up with him to do it myself.

Again, it was a good call to make – Angel was planning on calling me up anyway, and not just to treat Simon's head wound. While I finish bandaging the area and Chris constantly tries to check his pupils with a flashlight (which Si isn't making easy for him), Simon and Angel go back and forth at almost lightning speed, while Chris and I remain, like, absolutely silent. Maybe we're just not sure what _to_ do or say, as if we'd be able to get a word in edgewise, right? Or maybe it's just because, like, none of us have actually _seen_ the two of them interact – Si always has his meetings with Angel alone... without a medical professional in the room.

But this "meeting" must be a bit more, like, dramatic than usual, considering the urgency of the situation, but the way Simon talks to "our boss" is... not, like, "rude," per se... but certainly not with the same demeanor or courtesy as the rest of us would. Even Seely holds a certain amount of genuine, like, respect for his brother, so he knows when to pipe down with his teasing.

Well, okay, so Spike is snide and violent with him constantly, but he's like that with everyone, even people he likes. And Russell can get cheeky now and again, but not so serious and commandeering as Simon comes across – like he knows more of what he's talking about than even Angel does. Which, well, kind of makes a bit of sense. It's as if Simon is basically on Angel's level, and knows it. He's typically very friendly to everyone – just not today, and not to the "boss" who comes across as a know-it-all at times.

For the tenth time, Simon pauses in his arguing with Angel to swipe Chris's arm away and growl, "Quit blindin' me, wouldja! Christ on a stick, I'm not _that_ bad off--"

"You may have a concussion," I remind him – for at least the _fifth_ time, which only strengthens my suspicion that he _does_. "You were nearly knocked out with your own communicator, so that could mean--"

"But I _wasn't_ knocked out!" he exclaims from the corner chair Angel's physically forced him into. "That's what I'm sayin'! I didn't lose consciousness at all--"

"That doesn't mean you don't have one – you still could," I mutter, fighting the urge to make sure he _does_ with my own two hands. "Now settle down and let Chris check – it's not like he's interfering with your mouth, you can still, like, _talk_."

And as he huffs irritably while Chris checks his eyes again, Angel takes the opportunity to overtake Simon's rambling with his own form of prodding the patient.

"You said you were asking for information after finding Bainbridge's body--"

"I didn't just _find_ it, Angel – I bloody well _saw_ the thing just before the fucker keeled over!"

"So who and what did you ask, and _why?_ When you say there were no other witnesses--"

"I don't know! The bloke who came out and saw me, I tried to ask him what he was doin' and he fuckin' pummeled me – and if I were on his side of this situation, I woulda done the same thing!"

"`Pummeled,'" Angel snickers dryly. "Just the once, though."

"It was one time too many, and he packed a powerful punch, I'll tell ya – or, at least, I'd _say_ that, _IF IT HAD ONLY BEEN HIS FUCKING FIST!_ I wouldn't need stitches if he hadn't used this bloody thing." And Simon throws the broken, useless communicator onto Angel's desk.

Angel hesitates, eying up the crushed, blood-stained metal disdainfully. Personally, I have to wonder just how hard Simon's head is if the communicator, like, _broke_ like that but he was still conscious. And the way Angel shivers ever so minutely when he sees the dark red splotches on it makes me wonder if, like, he gets a little squeamish at the sight of Human blood too.

But apparently, he's not thinking of that – or he, like, chooses to move on from it – as he turns away from it and mutters, "We'll get you a new one--"

"Thanks!" Simon laughs, actually breaking a wry smile. "Give 'em more ammo to bludgeon me brains out, thank you very much!"

"You _need_ a communicator in this atmo--"

"I know, I know," Simon grumbles, his smile turning into a grimace. "It's just a bloody pain in the arse – or head, as it were."

"Anyway," Angel cuts back to the important issue, "how did you know where Bainbridge even _was_?"

"I didn't at first, not this mornin' when I woke up," Simon admits, letting me guide his hand to hold more gauze to his bandage, which is already seeping through. "Word on the street by six AM was he'd been out of the city for a month. Then not an hour later, I see 'im traipsin' down Fortez Road like he'd never left! So I tailed the fucker."

"You followed him?" Angel deadpans, arms over his chest.

"Aye."

"_Alone_."

"Of course, alone!" Simon declares, throwing his hands in the air helplessly. "It's how I always do things!"

I fight with one of his hands to keep the (literally) bloody gauze in place, but he's barely paying attention to me. "I wasn't about to get anyone else involved, I didn't feel like lookin' out for someone else. Besides, he looked like he had a purpose, so I went to find out what it was."

Angel sighs heavily; even his best streetman going on a questionable, unofficial mission on his own (though Si's been doing it for years – but this is the first time it's turned out like _this_...) gets to our boss. But really, it could've been a lot worse. Angel's obviously considered this, because he lets slide the part he doesn't like and merely asks, "And?"

"And," Simon goes on, finally resting his elbow on the arm of the chair to cooperate in slowing down the bleeding, "I tailed him to a warehouse up near the seaport. One of those tiny ones that ain't used anymore 'cause they're shite, basically – fishermen ditched 'em 'cause they say they got too overrun with mold or somethin' coupla years ago, but I know the real reason's 'cause they thought the places were haunted. People down in that area all joke about the spooked sailors and freaked fishermen – still, not even the people who laugh go near the place.

"Well, Bainbridge don't believe in ghosts, I guess – even though we _know_ they exist, in certain forms... Anyway, he went inside, I hid beside the entrance, I heard some arguing in a Utarian dialect I couldn't make out – Bainbridge still blathering in English, in that pompous way of his, but the other guy was too loud and angry to make anything out. I tried to look around the corner, see if I could read their lips, and suddenly there were just tons of lights – enough to blind _me _for a second. Then I looked in and saw Bainbridge collapse like a sack of spuds in a pool of smoke."

Angel knits his brow at him. "Smoke?"

"Aye, tons of it – but that's what happens when you get fried inside-out by some maniac, init?"

"And this maniac," Angel says pointedly, "he's the one who came out of the warehouse? The one you tried to _talk_ to!?"

"Aye, I guess – look, I know it sounds weird, but he came out and _saw_ me, what was I s'posed to do!? I went on instinct, autopilot, and my autopilot runs on questioning things, all right? Since I didn't _see_ the actual event _happen_, of course the first thing I asked was what he'd done. And that's when he grabbed my communicator and whacked me with it. But I swear to you, Angel, _no one else_ was around – I checked before _and_ after, you know how I can see these things. It didn't take me long to know for sure they'd planned this meeting in a secluded area, alone, and that they'd nearly pulled it off – except for _me_. No one else saw anything. Bloke was waitin' for him in that supposedly haunted warehouse for who knows how long. Hell, maybe years – maybe _he's _this `ghost' thing all those fishermen were scared of..."

Angel gnaws on his lip as his eyes dart around; he's in puzzle-solving mode now, a bit like I get when I'm doing my proper work. But he's probably, like, thinking the same things Simon's blatantly blathering about.

"Bainbridge was meeting up with him," he says quietly with a nod, more to himself than confirming Simon's speculations. "He was out of the city for a month beforehand. He was trying to find the stone--"

"Well done!" Simon and Chris reply in unison – Simon with exasperation and Chris without enthusiasm.

Angel ignores their sarcasm and continues to himself (aloud), "And either he was taking the stone _to_ him, or he failed in finding it. If the latter is true, this guy's dangerous even without the stone. If he gets his hands on it--"

But Simon's shaking his head. "Whoever this bloke is, he's nothin' without that stone – he should've killed me too when he saw me, but he didn't. He _couldn't_."

"So you don't think Bainbridge found it?"

"Oh, I think he has it – but knowin' him, he was gonna use it to get more from this guy than whatever they'd originally planned. _If_ he was gonna give it to him at all. If he'd somehow figured out how to use it, he could've been threatening to use it on our mystery man – not realizing, being a bone-head, that that kinda threat just pisses people off. Bainbridge underestimated the bloke."

"But if Bainbridge didn't have the stone on him at the time," I put in, "and you say the murderer's nothing without it, how could he kill him and not _you?_"

"Depends on the magic," Simon answers easily.

This coming from a Human Earthling who's only been here a decade; telling a pure-blooded Utar scientist. How embarrassed am I right now?

Let's just say he's _reminding_ me.

"If the guy has powers like Dark Arts, but he's not very adept, he may not be able to recharge, so to speak, very quickly – especially just after a number like he did on Bainbridge. Besides," he adds, shrugging carelessly, "look at the state of me – he must've just thought I was some useless bum who didn't actually _see_ anything. He only noticed me when he came out alone. Hell, he might've thought he'd done me in when I collapsed – playing dead _can_ help sometimes. But I _didn't lose consciousness!_" he insists as Chris tries to check his eyes again.

"So," Angel cuts in abruptly, "you saw the guy who did it."

"Well, _yes!_" Simon scoffs rather loudly, eyes huge. "Where you been the last twenty minutes!? How many times have I _said_..." He trails off, glancing around absently, then turns to me and asks, "How many times _have_ I said it? I forget now--"

I roll my eyes and sigh as Chris confirms, "It's a concussion – mild, but enough to be wary about."

Simon makes a face, not wanting to believe us; or just pretending it doesn't matter – and in all honesty, the fact that he can recall this much after a head wound like that is pretty impressive; though now it makes me wonder just how much is accurate... but he hasn't backtracked or changed his story at all, so I doubt, like, _doubting_ him. It's a good thing he's fast, too – he obviously wanted to get to us before anyone else found the crime scene so Angel and our group could get ahead of the police, but in my eyes, it was good for him to get here as soon as possible, to lay out what he could remember before his short-term memory goes.

Simon, meanwhile, isn't listening in on my thoughts about any of that. He's still going on about the murderer, "But he weren't nothin' to brag about himself! Maybe somethin' interestin', but facially, not very strikin'."

"What do you mean, interesting?" Angel asks directly.

"Well, he was wearin' a black hood, so I'm not sure, but I'm thinkin' he might've been a _Tifsim_. Couldn't see his hair, but he _definitely_ had purple eyes."

Angel's face suddenly changes to moderate shock, as opposed to his previous mild, then he spins on his desk and starts clacking away madly on his computer keyboard.

"You got somethin'?" Simon asks, craning his neck to no avail.

"Maybe," Angel utters. "And if so, this is worse than I thought – any street thug with some strange abilities... fine. But if it's what I think..." He curses softly under his breath. "If we only had the stone itself to prove it--"

As images and old news reports flicker by on his computer screen in rapid succession, Chris and I exchange wary glances.

_Tifsims_ are a very rare breed among Utars – a _true_ mutation of the race in the negative sense of the word, unlike the rather neutral (no pun intended) mutation of bi-genders. (At least bi-genders can be enjoyed by all... That was way too perverse for _me_ to think!)

But no, _Tifsims_ are even more rare than bi-genders – and, for the most part, unlike bi-genders (whose only mutation is a physical one), extremely dangerous. They existed for centuries before Earthlings started coming here, and it's a mystery as to how or why they turn out as they do – just as certain anomalies in the Human race led to various birth defects, deformities, mental retardation, etc. But this wasn't just a case of one out of so many hundred being "slow" - this was a violent, inexplicable outburst from the typical Utar offspring.

Utars generally have natural physical features not common in Humans: the starred pupils of our eyes, the different colors of eyes and hair that simply aren't possible in a pure Human lineage – it's just not in their chemical make-up. (Though if one throws a Utar and Human together like that and they have a Halfie, one could say the Human race is developing physical changes like the natural tendency for a streak of mauve in mostly green hair...)

But the two identifying factors in _Tifsims_ that have never changed throughout time have been the combination of hair as red as a Human's blood, and violet eyes. These attributes can also be found on other Utars – but never the two together. The strange genetics of just _one_ race can be baffling. But those mere physical traits aren't the reason they are so feared – why would they be?

_Tifsims_' brains are miswired, to the point where some can't speak, but they can lash out violently, carelessly, without thought. They show little to no emotion, and not in a _Nispar_ nature, but a vile, cruel one. Their tempers are vicious, worse than even a descendant of the war "god," or "Pillar Spirit," Utral, who is the symbol of strength and power (but not insanity and bloodlust).

_Tifsims_ are a true danger, since most of them are like violent, strong children. However, there have been a few remarkable cases wherein a _Tifsim_ with high intelligence is able to sort of, like, _re_wire or redirect the paths in their brains – some even turned out to be extremely smart and caring, once they overcame the hurdle of their "disability." A friend of mine in Ysatnaf sent me true stories about such a _Tifsim_ who, with the help of a very diligent, patient man, managed to control his own mind to the point of regular, verbal communication, and even exceeded expectations proving his superior intellect. Basically, this guy's brain works two or three times faster than an average "smart" Utar's, and is able to reach a "genius" status. If he'd been born without the _Tifsim_ mutation, his intellect alone may have driven him mad eventually – so maybe it was better this guy started out at the bottom...

But to get back on track, someone like that is one in about ten million – not including Humans. And while _Tifsims_ are rare, the numbers of those who remain just as others like them were, are far greater than those who gain some kind of control over themselves. This isn't to say they're all _stupid_, they just function differently – and not in a safe manner for our society (or themselves). As long as a _Tifsim_ has some awareness and intelligence, where they can communicate at all, and are taught a disciplined, peaceful way of life, they can be just like anyone else. But seeing as they are so rare to begin with, it's hard to find any who aren't deemed "insane" and locked away.

And if one should happen to break free of their restraints, one who has the intelligence and awareness to hide from their keepers, perhaps one who has even learned to develop Dark Arts powers they may have been born with...

I gasp suddenly – just as Angel clicks on a particular photo on the computer and turns the console to Simon.

"Does this face look familiar?"

"Shit!" I breathe before Simon can finish his assessment. I catch Angel's eye and blurt out, "You don't mean that nut--"

Angel nods reluctantly.

"Aw, yeah," Simon finally answers as he squints at the picture (and seeing as he doesn't wear glasses, this is just more proof that I'm right about the concussion!). "Aye, that's him all right – looks older now, a bit more wizened and scrappy, but the face and eyes – definitely him." He tears his gaze from the computer and blinks up at us cluelessly. "Why?"

Angel lets out a sigh again as he explains, glancing back at the computer now and then, "This is Gedgeon Tr'ravast. He was not only a terrorist against Humans, but sacrificed – more like _murdered_ – any Utars who happened to get in the way as well. He was a uniquely keen _Tifsim_ who was raised by Utar Purists, but he went on a rampage three years ago and was finally captured – only after killing fifty-seven Humans, not to mention the seventeen Utars who, like I said, got in his way. He didn't care about them anyway – not even his own parents. They had kept him and raised him to use as a weapon against Humans, being Purists themselves. They just didn't know _how_ uncontrollable a _Tifsim_ with that kind of sentience and ability to think and feel could be – the smarter ones are the more dangerous. But they paid for their carelessness with their lives.

"He was supposed to be executed a few months after the police caught him, his `disability' not relieving him of anything he'd been charged with. He proved that he was communicative, aware of his actions, but just did what he wanted, without batting an eyelash. A true threat. Unfortunately, because of his abilities to learn, his parents trained him in the Dark Arts which ran in their family line. He busted out of prison before his execution day, and has been missing for over two years by now – clever enough to elude police, private investigators, armies, government... And I do believe, Simon, in your rather hasty and unwitting way, you of all people managed to find him. Somewhere along the way, he must have managed to sneak into this city and hide out."

"But," I add as Simon shrinks back in his chair, "there's one element that's missing here: after he was caught, his family's possessions were taken by police. Since the family was either dead, scattered or missing, not about to come forward to claim anything, they donated most of it to the needy – but I remember when that happened, and Chris and I were asked to go through the belongings and managed to find some genuine artifacts. Except one--"

"The one they didn't trust us with," Chris puts in sullenly. "Back when we were first starting to work with them more but they still didn't like us. Even they could sense the evil of that gem, so that's why `the government' took the ancient gemstone and kept it a secret, locking it away in some facility very few people knew about--"

"Turns out," I interrupt, more intrigued by the object in question itself than the tension between official government and our agency, "this stone held so much power that even the _family_ had tried to keep it hidden. It was a family heirloom which gave the family their _full_ strength. Which was why they were so powerful and respected in their home in the White Lands. They had prestige, despite having a `freak' of a son – the Purists who knew also knew their plans for their son, and approved of their decisions."

"Or," Simon suggests with a snort, "they just didn't wanna make enemies of 'em."

I tilt my head to the side. "True – but once the folks were done in by Son of the Year, everyone else was up for grabs. But, when Gedgeon was captured and he was separated from the stone--"

"His enhanced powers were weakened," Simon finishes for me, looking sullen and pale. "Great. Good thing I met him when he was in a power rut, eh?"

Despite Si's morbid chuckle, Angel confirms very seriously, "You were _damn_ lucky." He straightens his back and asks, all business-like again, "Did you call the police at all?"

Simon rolls his eyes. "Oh, you know, I wasn't quite all together, like, so it didn't come to mind. I was too busy running _here_ with a broken _head_ to think of it. I'm very sorry not to have – _OH COME ON ANGEL! YOU'RE THE ONE WITH THE CONCUSSION!!_"

I clear my throat, trying not to smirk. Even _I_ know the answer to that one, but Simon clarifies, in quite shrill and insulted tones, "Of course not, you twat! I don't call the police, _ever!_ I don't trust those bloody lying, scheming, twisted bastards! You may try to build up a rapport with them, but that's your own business, not mine! I call _you_ guys and let _you_ make that decision! I won't have nothin' to do with 'em, thanks."

Angel holds up his hands in defense – even if he hasn't risen from the chair, the force of his shouting was enough to blow us all back a bit. "Okay, just wanted to make sure. Because if anyone saw you or heard of you being near the scene of the crime, you'd be a suspect or accomplice. So if you're sure you're okay legally--"

Simon sits up straight in his chair, repeating wearily, "I _told_ you, _no one_ else was there. I _swear_ it. On me mum's grave, I _swear_ I saw and sensed _no one_ besides that freak and the carcass that once was the almighty monkey-fucker Bainbridge. All I did after this killer left was check Bainbridge's body to find that hotel key and close the door to the warehouse – with my shirt over my hands so as not to leave fingerprints, of course – so no one else would see till you heard of it. So, can I go home now? I think I could use a nap actually--"

"No!" My body responds automatically before my mouth or hands can be stopped, and I shove him back into the chair with unusual force. "You're not allowed to sleep for at _least_ several hours after sustaining a concussion." I turn to Angel. "I can keep him in the lab with me, right? So I can keep an eye on him, make sure nothing else goes wrong--"

Simon slumps back again, cursing under his breath, but not putting up any other kind of fight. Angel shakes his head.

"Oh, he's not going anywhere, no. Not until we're sure he's okay." He switches his attention to me sharply and continues, "But _I'm_ calling the police to report an anonymous tip given to me about a body found down by the abandoned seaport warehouses – and _you_ are gonna be there for the identification and autopsy."

My eyes bulge at his words. Not that I've never done this sort of thing before, but I have other worries on my mind – a little autopsy isn't what makes me queasy. "You think they'll actually allow it? Surely they'll have a guard there--"

Angel's already dialing the ground line. "Considering you're an expert on both Human and Utar physiology _and_ the effects of magic on either race's bodies, they'll need you, trust me. Besides, they'll most likely send the body to your old stomping grounds, so even if they station police guards to oversee _your_ observation, whoever you work with will probably know and trust you already."

As he pauses to ask someone on the other end to be connected to the chief of police, I hiss to him, "Well, what about Simon? Who's gonna look after him while I'm gone?"

Angel gestures to Chris, who remains standing by Simon's chair, though he's looking the opposite way, studying some of the decorations on Angel's wall. "Don't see why he can't do it," he whispers as he covers the mouthpiece.

"Chris has trouble getting too close to people," I argue. "You know that! If Simon starts to fall asleep--"

But I'm interrupted when something pointy jabs me in the side. I whirl around, about to shout into Chris's smirking face; but the long pewter fake sword he's nicked from Angel's wall makes the words die on my lips. I turn back to my boss, clearly not comfortable with this arrangement.

Angel merely shrugs. "Seems good to me."

"Oi!" Simon protests, rigid now. "Don't let this sadist near me with a bloody sword! I don't care if it's a relic that's not very sharp – it's a _sword!_"

Chris playfully swings it around in front of Simon's face. "It's simple, then: just stay awake and I won't have to poke you."

Angel raises his eyebrows as confirmation while he starts his conversation with the chief of police, and Simon groans as he accepts his annoying fate.

So as the two leave the office, Chris prodding Simon in the back already and giggling lightly as the Human snipes at him to knock it off (I like the fact that Simon isn't afraid of Chris in the least, and that they can interact this way – it's quite rare for most people to act like themselves in front of my "little brother"), Angel finishes up on the phone and turns to me.

"You're cleared to go to the hospital to oversee the autopsy. I think the doctor performing it was one of your professors, so don't worry so much. The chief assures me he'll let his boys _and_ the doctor know before you get there. Just take your badge with you."

I nod, and though I should be off already to gather necessary materials and head right over, I hesitate in front of Angel's desk.

"What?" he asks when he sees I haven't moved.

My eyes flicker over to the snarling redhead on his computer screen. "This stone... He must have made connections with people on his way to this city. Desperate enough to find the right people to do his bidding, so to speak. He had to have had people doing things for him, for _years_. Even Bainbridge. This stone is part of his family, his heritage. He obviously wants it back no matter what the cost. As it's... part of _him_, essentially. Like there's a piece of him out there, missing. It's no wonder he went over the edge and did Bainbridge in, if the guy was trying to pull one over on him with something that important to him."

He tilts his head to one side, eying me up curiously. "Are you sympathetic towards him, now that we've come to that theory?"

Immediately, I cringe and shake my head. "Gods, no. Not at all. I just... I wonder..." I look straight at him. "He's still out there. Looking for the same thing the other three are. If he's this dangerous... and if he knows where Bainbridge was staying, like Simon knew..."

Angel acknowledges my concern with a nod. "I was already planning on sending the raucous numbskulls to cover them. Besides, they have Seely with them – they should be okay even without the idiots."

"`_Should_ be,'" I repeat, but gesture to his hand, which is reaching for the phone. "But if that's true, you wouldn't feel the urge to send `the numbskulls' as their cover, would you?"

He narrows his eyes at me, asking shortly, "You think I sent Noel and Rich into the lion's cage on purpose?"

I bite my lip, lowering my eyes. "Of course not."

"I'm not psychic either – if I may be so bold as to mimic the very _numbskulls_ I degraded before."

I nod slowly, repeating, "Of course not. You're right – we didn't have all the information – speculative theories, yes, but still a strong speculation – before you assigned this to them. Still, I doubt any of us would've linked it to that incident from three years ago. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Besides," he adds confidently, "sometimes people can surprise you by surpassing your expectations of them."

I give him a wavering smile, though still not convinced. "Oh?"

He pauses, his hand frozen on the receiver, still not picking it up. He stares down at his own fingers, then, from out of nowhere, informs me, "Simon came here from Earth a decade ago. He was only twenty at the time. Humans have been born and raised on this planet for centuries now, but the majority of them still die without an ounce of our race's influence in them. Yet in less than ten years – actually, in less than _three_ – Simon developed _Eszene Tze_ powers."

I blink, taken aback; no wonder Angel rarely second-guesses Simon's information, especially what he's seen with his own eyes – _Eszene Tze_ Utars have the ability of sight; not just sight, but such an enhanced sight that goes beyond what average people can see, Utar or not. They can predict actions by minute movements no one else besides their own lineage can catch. Like _Nispars_, they can see Bubbles in a way that no other race can – and perhaps this could be something that links the oddly enhanced Human and Chris, as Simon can most likely relate to much of what Chris sees, but is better at verbalizing it. Instead of feeling, just _knowing_ and interpreting. If an _Eszene Tze_ concentrates hard enough, he can make his way through particles of inanimate objects, focus in on people ten miles away, read lips...

_ "I tried to look around the corner, see if I could read their lips..."_

_ "...you know how I can see these things."_

Huh. And here I thought he'd just been pulling it out of his ass.

Somehow, I know neither of them have told anyone else this.

"He figured it out a while ago," Angel continues, "only told me after two years of working here. He's very cautious, that's why he waited so long to inform me. He wanted to make sure I would believe him – even without knowing about his powers. He wanted _my_ trust. He won it without my knowledge of his ability, and when he told me _why_ he could see these things, he said he'd wanted me to believe in _him_, not just a power he'd developed. So I trust everything he sees – but not just because of some supernatural ability. He's good at picking up on hearsay and figuring out what's true and what's bullshit. I believe _that_ information as much as I believe whatever he says he _sees_."

I nod slowly, feeling a bit stupid for not having caught on before – like failing at one of those Sherlock Holmes brain-teaser mysteries. I should've known.

"After the lightshow of the _Tifsim's _magic attack on Bainbridge, and with all the smoke, how could Simon have known it was Bainbridge who went down? And if the attacker came at him fast enough to swipe his communicator without him being able to stop him, how could he have noticed the color of his eyes?"

"Exactly – things most people wouldn't think to notice, or wouldn't be able to tell. So this isn't _just_ a theory, Sen. We _know_ who the killer is – the guy who's after the stone."

"And your telling me about Simon," I surmise, "was meant to allay my fears about Noel and Rich... how? That maybe even they can surprise us?"

He shrugs. "Basically. A Human Earthling was here for three years and developed Utar powers. You never know what's possible."

"So you have faith in them and Seely."

"Of course."

I point to his hand on the phone receiver. "But..."

He smirks. "Yes, I'm still sending Spike, Russell and James. Because, as much as I degrade them, I have faith that they'll protect the others at all costs."

I take this into consideration – then add as I start to leave, "If you're desperate, try calling on Zach, too; something tells me he'd do the same."


	6. Chapter 6

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency" **

CHAPTER SIX

Rich

Breaking into Bainbridge's hotel room isn't as problematic as I originally make it out to be. I suggest once to perhaps get the key off of Simon, but of course that would take too much time; so I'm about to try another tactic, like getting through to Angel to see if Chris can extract the numbers to the keypad from the key Simon took from the body.

But Seely beats my thought from even being voiced by simply kicking the door in.

"The manager might not like that," Noel snickers, but I can only roll my eyes; leave it to a _Utral_ to take any opportunity to display his strength.

"Don't worry," Seely insists, gesturing to Noel. "You can fix that with a little Light Arts spell, no problem."

Noel tilts his head to the side, as if unable to disagree, then follows us inside.

The room looks relatively normal, except for the few belongings one would be expected to have while just checking into a hotel. An open suitcase sits on a chair by a dresser, clothes still unpacked. The bed is neatly made, suggesting Bainbridge only arrived that morning and hadn't had a chance to use it. There are very few clues to go on – Seely tries using the ground line phone to find any recent calls made from or coming into the room, but the only one that comes up is another land line that says "unknown," suggesting it was made from a pay phone, which is impossible to track without a live connection.

Otherwise, the only thing out of the ordinary is a thick manila envelope sitting plainly in sight on top of the dresser. This is where I begin my search, pulling out a pair of omnipresent latex gloves to rifle through the various papers and clippings – directions scribbled in Bainbridge's handwriting, barely decipherable. The "clippings" turn out to be battered printouts of what I deduce are classified files – most likely found by way of hacking into government systems and pulling information about the stone. Very vague and uninformative, however.

Bainbridge apparently knew less about this stone than we did, yet managed to find it before us, as dates from the papers are marked much earlier than when we even _heard_ of the case. But he hadn't done as much information gathering as the agency; I can only surmise this is because he had access to the very person _looking_ for the stone, so he hadn't felt the need to find out just how dangerous it truly is. As usual, Bainbridge had charged in on a job purely out of his own desire and greed, without considering any other consequences (like being murdered by the very "boss" who sent him on this mission).

As I study the contents of the envelope, Seely checks the suitcase, every drawer, every closet, every crevice – including the bathroom. I'm a bit annoyed when I notice that Noel seems more distracted by the window drapes than being fully involved in our _real_ investigation. The look of disdain on his face clearly shows his disapproval – probably thinking a hotel of this status should have more taste and be more attentive to the decor. Or he just thinks they're too bland.

We reconvene by the bed, and I show them what I've found in the envelope, as it's the only thing of use we've managed to come up with.

"Funny," Seely mutters, flitting through the papers with a knitted brow. "You'd think such a 'global explorer' as Bainbridge claimed to be, he'd have more crap than just a suitcase of clothes even _I_ consider revolting and _this_ useless envelope."

Noel smirks at the fashion taste comment, but otherwise has nothing to add.

"Well," I reason, "he probably has a separate place he stores his finds. A man claiming to own as many important artifacts as he did doesn't advertise the whereabouts of his treasures."

"Unless he really _is_ just a lying boaster," Seely sneers.

At this point, Noel pops into the conversation, taking the time to draw his attention away from cringing over the plain white pillows to add, "Or maybe he's telling the truth, but is paranoid enough to carry it all with him wherever he goes."

Seely holds out his arms in exasperation. "Where do you see anything that would suggest that!? I even checked the secret cubbyhole in the closet ceiling!"

Noel clucks his tongue, mumbling, "Doubt Bainbridge even knew about that." Then he shrugs, hands on his hips, and points out, "You're thinking too hard. This is Bainbridge we're talking about here – a stupid titbox, and coming from me, that's saying a lot, even I'll admit that."

Seely blushes minutely, assuring him lamely, "You're not _stupid_, or a, um... _titbox_. Just a little airheaded at times--"

"Look," Noel cuts him off, "you have to take into consideration the obvious shit with blokes like Bainbridge. Gotta think like a kid who thinks he's smarter than everyone else, but really isn't. Where do kids like that usually hide things?"

"In closets!" Seely insists.

But Noel shakes his head, and, without taking his eyes off Seely (or hands off his hips), merely lifts a foot back before letting it drop – and the knock of his boot against something hard beneath the overhanging sheet of the bed seems to echo through the whole room. Like the death gong to Seely's ego.

The sniper rolls his eyes, obviously feeling as dumb as he should, and then we all drop to our hands and knees, flipping the over-sized blanket upward to reveal the stash of unmarked boxes and tins hiding under the bed.

"What a fucking idiot," Seely remarks as he starts pulling out one box after another. "A grown man thinking `under the bed' is an adequate storage space for supposedly valuable artifacts..."

"Well, _you_ didn't think of it," Noel points out – but quickly shuts up and continues working when all he receives in response is a growl.

"It's not _that_ surprising," I attempt to add. "Either Bainbridge really _was_ this stupid – or he was being tricky in thinking the most obvious places _wouldn't_ be so obvious. Reverse psychology – no one would think someone of his assumed caliber and renown would be silly enough to hide things under a bed, so why not do it that way? He left the envelope in plain sight as well; either he truly didn't think anyone would be interested to take a peek, or he just forgot he left it out there by accident. The only one who would know the extent of Bainbridge's mental capacity would be Bainbridge himself."

"I doubt that," Seely grumbles, getting a mouthful of dust and coughing before continuing, "His image of himself was obviously more like a delusion of grandeur."

I shrug and flick some dust off a tin as I shrug. "Fair call."

We must spend a good twenty minutes rummaging through the not-so-cleverly hidden boxes (though the seals used to contain some of the treasures _are_ more clever) – which is a sign that the police have been successfully stalled in their investigation of the crime scene itself, with Angel's devious, vague "help," of course.

We unveil several items which, we have to admit, startle us: we hadn't actually thought Bainbridge _had_ discovered anything he'd claimed to, but apparently he hadn't been telling _all_ lies. Of course, the items which are easier to get to (old shoe boxes wrapped in celo-tape, unlocked trinket cases) are either duds or rubbish. But some are genuinely noteworthy. So we stash them away in my purposefully near-empty courier bag to take back to the agency for Chris and Sendhil to study.

Still, we have yet to uncover the real bounty – until, when we're about to give up and assume the killer must have taken it from Bainbridge in the abandoned seaport warehouse, Noel swears he sees something. Almost entirely under the bed now, splayed on his belly on the floor, only his boots sticking out, he lets out an "A-ha!" and re-emerges with a small black metal tin, grinning triumphantly. Seely crawls over the bed to look over Noel's shoulder, preferring not to deal with the mess of boxes and trinkets we've uncovered now littering the floor, and nudges my arm.

"Think that's it?"

"Most likely," Noel answers instead, his face screwing up as he turns the tin over and over in his hands... which I just now notice are bare, unlike my own and Seely's, which are covered in gloves, as any experienced investigator would know to do (his not latex, but a soft black material). I'm about to point this out, but Noel is intent on finding some way to open the seemingly solid block. "I can't find any way to open it, and it was jammed at the very back, practically stuck behind the side table. So even if the twat used a _stupid_ hiding spot, it _was_ a bit hard to notice or get to. Guess that's as far as his brain capacity goes, like you were saying. Except that... Shit, there's, like, _no_ way to open the bloody thing!"

Seely lifts his eyebrows, straying off topic by asking with a half-smile, "So where do _you_ hide stuff you don't want others to find?"

Noel smirks, glancing furtively at Seely from under his dark fringe. "Any body crevice it'll fit in." He gives his head a shake, flipping the hair out of his eyes to better study the tin, and answers more seriously, "I have Light Arts abilities – if I had anything to hide, I could use a spell to cover it. But, me being me, I don't really have much to hide..."

"Except a shady past?" I suggest slyly.

Noel's grin fades and his eyes even lose their typical gleeful glint, as I realize I should keep my empathic thoughts to myself. Luckily, Noel distracts from the uncomfortable subject by grunting irritably, "Damnit, where's the fucking thing open!? Isn't there, like, some button or lock or... or... or even a _seal?"_

I try to take it from him, but he's a stubborn child wanting to work it out on his own – since he's the one who found it, after all.

"I could try to smash it open," Seely tosses in, which gets negative scowls from both of us immediately. He shrugs. "Just a thought..."

Sighing heavily, Noel lets the box fall into his lap, glaring hard at it.

"Maybe it's a trick," I try, reaching for it – but I quickly pull my hand back when I feel the energy, as Noel's already thought of this. A slight glimmer passes over his starred eyes, at the same time as it does over the black tin. His glare wasn't a _glare_, but Noel in concentration mode.

The box shifts, untouched, on his legs, and the edges suddenly crack open, falling and tumbling to the ground, away from the tiny black cushion hidden inside – which holds, as we hoped, a gemstone the size of a toddler's palm. Exactly matching the picture we have of it.

What the photograph failed to capture, however, is the soft blue glow emanating from the gem, shimmering seductively; and the strange, cold shiver that passes through all of us as we look on it.

But Noel lifts his head sharply, grinning again as he snatches the stone into his nimble fingers – just as I let out a yelp.

"Wot?" he asks, blinking as the grin drops to a stunned expression. "We found it, that's good--"

I swipe a bundle of pre-cleansed cloths from my bag and grab the stone from his long fingers, shoving it back onto its cushion and scolding him, "You just touched it with your bare hands!"

"So?" he asks as I carefully wrap the gem, cushion and all, into the cloths and seal the entire bundle into a baggie.

"_So_," I snap as I tuck the bundle securely into my bag, between various other rare finds we've snatched up to take back, "we don't know what effects it could have, even by a mere touch!"

Noel looks guiltily down at his fingertips, mumbling, "Oops... S-Sorry... Wasn't really thinkin'..."

But Seely ruffles his hair. "Don't worry, little guy. Probably nothing – you only had it for a second--"

But I must interject sternly, "That may be enough to do something – the stone was encased in a tin that only opened with a Light Arts spell. That's a common trick, to fool people with those abilities, to make them think it's safe, since only a spell from the Light end of the spectrum could open it. But really the object inside is infused with _Dark_ Arts powers. If you're not a Master of either energies, or don't possess both abilities, it could be dangerous..."

Noel pales the more I go on, and I glance to Seely for help – who only gives me a wide-eyed, accusing look before nodding sideways at Noel. I suppose he's urging me to be more sensitive, though I hardly see how that's helpful when what I say is very true. Still, the little guy looks like a child who didn't realize he'd been doing something wrong, maybe even on the verge of tears, so I relent. As much as I can, anyway.

"Oh, but... yeah, it was only a second," I assure him against my better judgment. "I'll bet Seely's right, it won't be so bad..."

But that's when I notice that Noel's usual bounce doesn't come back as immediately as usual when he's forgiven or assured – in fact, his pallid coloring isn't fading, only growing worse, and he holds a hand to his head.

Uh, no... I think Rich is right... I think I'm... not feeling too well..."

"Oh, that's a mental thing," Seely persists, climbing off the bed to stand in front of our companion. He reaches down and grips Noel by the arms, hoisting him upward. "You're just taking the suggestion and letting it get to you--"

But as he tries to get the younger man to his feet, Seely has to catch him as Noel sways sharply to the left, as if to fall over.

"Whoa there, kiddo," Seely says, snagging the weight with one arm and twirling Noel back to the bed. He urges him to sit on the edge, studying him as carefully as I would. "Okay," he sighs as Noel's eyes flutter wearily. "Maybe it's not just the power of suggestion. Here, lie down for a bit, get yourself together while we fix this place up."

Noel agrees without a fuss and rests back on the (still cringe-worthy) pillows, and Seely and I set about rearranging the room exactly as it had been before (minus the _true_ artifacts stashed in my bag), so the police won't suspect much when they get their turn at turning the room over to recover the stone. I even leave the envelope and all its contents where it was – as it's no use to us anyway. Most likely the cops will find the hidden "treasures" we've left under the bed and deduce Bainbridge _was_ just a puffed-up braggart.

As Seely helps Noel off the bed, however, his communicator sounds again, and he takes the call with Noel's arm draped over one shoulder. After some words with his brother, Seely shuts off the device and turns to me.

"They found the killer's identity – and it's a rather bleak one, at that. Angel wants us back right away so Sendhil can get to work studying the stone as soon as he gets back from the autopsy."

I nod my understanding, but as we leave the room, there's one more piece of evidence that I feel bad about mentioning, considering Noel's current state.

I stop Seely and he turns, Noel looking limp and weak by his side. I try to shut the broken door, and give him them a pleading, helpless glance as I ask hesitantly, "I hate to request it, as you're obviously not feeling well, but, um... Noel... d'you think you have enough strength to... possibly..."

His eyes barely open, he lifts a hand, pointing to the door, and uses a bit of that helpful Light energy to fix it just as it had been before – like we'd never been in there.

I can tell Seely is mixed about that last move, knowing it was logical to make it look like we weren't there, but also feeling protective of the only person who could have _done_ it, who's currently on the verge of passing out.

So I avoid his eyes as I utter, "Thanks," and lead them away from the room – feeling strangely _bad_ myself for sapping more of Noel's strength just to cover our asses. But, well, it _was_ necessary.

My fretting, however, is quickly forgotten. On the street, as we round a corner away from the hotel, we nearly run smack into three familiar figures, and all of us come to a complete standstill, staring each other down.

Finally, Spike snaps, "You bastards are done already!? Don't _tell_ me you're--"

I shrug helplessly. "We got done what we had to do, so--"

"But we're supposed to be your cover! Your backup! Damnit, when the hell is Angel gonna give us a _real_ job!?"

But as his "leader" continues to stomp and shout his anger out on the sidewalk, Russell seems preoccupied by something other than the suggestion that they're useless to the agency; his eyes come to rest on Noel, and an odd look of concern crawls onto his face.

"Oi, what's wrong with 'im?" he demands sharply, as if someone here is at fault (which, in a way, is true).

"He got overwhelmed by the stone's energy," I explain simply. "We're taking him back now to make sure he's okay--"

"The stone?" James interrupts, eyes wide with bewilderment. "You mean you... you actually found it?"

I shush them quietly, as we're right on the city street, and confirm, "Yeah, it's safe now – but we have to get back to the _agency_, right _away_, to _keep_ it that way – _and_ to let Noel rest."

The other three grumble in annoyance, but they must decide their work here (whatever it was supposed to have been) is done as well, since they all fall in line following behind us as we continue onward – though even I find it rather sweet when Russell offers to help Seely carry the limp Noel along, the smaller man's feet barely touching the ground now, between the two six-foot-plus men holding him up. Noel's a slip of a guy anyway, and Seely's a _Utral_, so he clearly doesn't need the help, but Russell is insistent, proving that despite his perverse suggestions and constant teasing for Noel acting like such a kid, he truly does _care_ about the "little guy."

Simon

I stare dully at the figure in front of me, whose thin face is covered by the blue glow of a computer screen, his unnaturally wide eyes darting back and forth in such a manner as to make me feel dizzy. He catches me watching him in his peripheral vision and nudges the stack of dusty books toward my knee, which is propped against the edge of the long table holding six computers.

"Are you going to stare at me some more, or do you plan on helping me?" Chris glances back at the computer screen, surreptitiously lifting the sword from his other side. "Or do you need another wake-up stab?"

I huff irritably and turn my attention back to the book held up against my thigh.

What a stupid idea. I apparently have a concussion and am not allowed to sleep for a while, so this supposed "genius" decides the best thing for me to do is help him with research, him on the computer ("Because the light might hurt your eyes and give you a worse headache right now") and me going through some of his old books. Not that I don't enjoy reading – in fact, I'm a literary fanatic, truth be told.

But these ancient texts are not only hard to decipher, since they're only in Utarian, and in varying dialects of Utarian no less, and my Utarian reading ability is that of a high schooler's; but they're also _boring_. They truly _are_ like textbooks. As if I don't already have a headache! Damn the blue light, I'd gladly take that over this right now, but Chris won't let me! If anything, all this slow translation and feeble comprehension is only making me _more_ drowsy.

I think Chris planned it this way, the sadistic pervert, so that he can jab at me constantly with that bloody sword every time I start to nod off. In as much as _Nispars_ are able to display any emotion, he seems to be getting a kick out of it. We always got along rather well for an overbearing, overly-friendly Human Earthling and a sheltered, overly-sensitive Utar _Nispar_, but I leave that mystery for others to figure out – my own explanation is that he's just drawn to my personality, because I don't do anything or say anything differently than with anyone else, and he must like that about me. Maybe he just likes the fact that I'm not afraid or put off by him like most others are. I can see, superficially, why they would be, but knowing all the people I do, it's not as rare as everyone thinks. Granted, I know a _lot_ of people, all very different, but if you put a bunch of them in one person, an amalgam of separate personalities and quirks, it makes sense to me. Chris is just very eccentric, in my (very powerful!) eyes, so it was easy to hit it off with him.

So me sniping at him to knock it off whenever he pokes me with that damn relic could seem impossible to some (like the ever-tittering Jen, or Angel, who regards Chris as someone to be revered and respected, despite him being a subordinate), but to the two of us, it's merely typical. Except I'm usually in better spirits – but who wouldn't be grouchy after being banged up by some twat who apparently is quite a dangerous sorta bloke?

I have to send a prayer of thanks to the gods when we're finally interrupted by the sudden clatter and noise from the stairway to the basement. Voices barking at each other and thumps we aren't sure of. Chris rises from his chair, a quizzical look on his face, and prods at me (with a _hand!_) to follow.

We're greeted with quite a scene: Seely settling Noel on the cot in the medical section while Julian rushes in, in a panic over why his roommate's all pale (well, paler than usual) and weak; Angel arguing with the three thugs about something or other, probably for not being timely with their assignment; and Rich, separating himself from the group to approach Chris with an over-stuffed courier bag and a clearly serious gleam to his eyes (not that his face ever really changes from its dour expression, but the eyes tell all with him).

"You found it," Chris sighs with relief just from one glance, and Rich nods.

"Along with some other interesting pieces you'll want to look at later, but yes, the priority..." He pauses, eying me up carefully. "You holdin' up okay? Heard you got banged up by the killer."

"Perfect," I grunt, nudging Chris with my elbow. "This nutter wants to joust every time I get sleepy – or _he_ gets bored."

Rich raises his eyebrows as his attention is drawn to the sword--

"Holy gods!" I exclaim when I notice the sword still cleverly hidden by Chris's other side, away from me. Tricky bugger. "What the fuck!? You plan on carryin' that thing around with you all the time now!?"

Chris glances innocently down at the relic, then seems as if he's seriously considering the _not_ serious suggestion. "It's a rather nice accessory; Noel might say it's a bit much, but I think it fits me quite well.... but it might get in the way of my work, so I suppose not." He calls to Seely and hands the sword over. "Jab Simon with this if he looks like he's going to pass out."

Seely's confused, but obeys – poking me with it immediately, as if testing it out. I reel back from him, shouting irritably, "Would you cut that out! I'm awake, for fuck's sake!"

Seely smirks. "I doubt this thing's sharp enough to cut anything. Besides, it's rare we get to bask in your presence all day, so I thought I'd make the most of it..."

I whirl on Chris – narrowly missing another stab at my ribcage. "All day!? How long do I have to stay here? I've got things to do, you know!"

Chris shrugs. "We'll wait until Sendhil gets back from the autopsy so he can check you over and decide if you're fit to go home – let alone if you're fit for _duty_."

I sigh heavily, then notice Julian tucking Noel into the cot, pulling up a sheet to his shoulders and everything.

I wave wildly at the scene and whine, "Oh, sure, _he_ gets to sleep it off, but _I'm _stuck with... being _stuck_ constantly!"

Chris furrows his brow, trying to look over Rich's shoulder. Then he has to give up that useless move and resort to craning his neck to see around the much taller man's arm. "What's happened to Noel?"

Rich pulls a bundled baggy from his satchel and explains, "He's the one who found the stone, used some Light Arts powers to open the box holding it. He wasn't thinking and picked up the stone with his bare hands..."

Before Rich can go on, Chris's face smoulders and he stomps over to the bed; faster than Julian can react to, the little black-clad man swats Noel over the head, getting a stifled moan in return.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing!?" Ju fusses at Chris in disgust. "You don't go up to an injured person and just whack them over the head! Stop abusing my patient, you maniac!"

"I've been poking an injured person all day, actually – seems to have been doing him good," Chris points out.

I stick my tongue out at him – and receive another jab from Seely for doing so. But it was so worth it, because Chris isn't sure what that gesture means, and his face goes blank for a second before he grows grave again and turns back to Noel's limp form.

"You twit!" he scolds the (older!) man. "I know you're a touchy-feely kind of man, but as someone with Light Arts abilities, you have to be extra cautious around anything involving Dark Arts, unless you're a Master. You _know_ that!"

"Leave him alone," Ju hisses at the _Nispar_ as he re-tucks the sheet snugly under Noel's shoulder. "He's obviously very ill--"

"He'll get over it," Chris determines flippantly – and no one has the qualifications to disagree, really. Still, he pauses to turn back when Noel mumbles a pitiful apology, and assures him in a much gentler, familiar voice, "You'll be okay. Just sleep for a bit and you'll wake up feeling fine. Maybe a little groggy, and your powers will be weak for a few days, but otherwise you'll be fine. Just stay away from the lab."

After these instructions, Chris briskly walks back to Rich and holds out a hand. "That stands for everyone else, too," he announces in a rarely authoritative voice as Rich gives over the wrapped solid danger. "I'll set up the stone for Sendhil in the lab and give him proper instructions and protection with a Light spell so he can study it, but don't let him in there when he returns without my consent."

He steps into the lab area, flicks his hand once, and I see (though probably no one else does, since Noel's turned away and I'm the only one with keen eyesight who can detect it) a shimmering veil of light separate the two areas.

As Angel drags the other three miscreants out of the basement, and Rich is about to head to his office, Chris stops him, motioning him to come into the lab – going against what he's just said. Apparently breaching the Light curtain doesn't have an effect when one passes through it – maybe only those with evil intentions or Dark Arts abilities. This makes the most sense, as Rich approaches him with no reaction.

They speak quietly as Chris meticulously sets the stone up in a vice contraption, then the diminutive Utar nods and removes his gloves, leaving them in the lab, before pulling Rich along with him through the invisible curtain of light, into the med room – by his sleeve, I note.

While Julian continues monitoring Noel closely, Chris pulls Seely and Rich aside, telling them, "You two have been in close contact with the stone too. I'll have to cast a spell on you just to make sure you weren't tainted by the Dark energy. Seeing as you both seem to be fine, I doubt anything dramatic, but Rich _was_ carrying it for a while, so I just want to be safe. If anything negative is residing inside you from the stone, this will eliminate it."

Seely cringes. "Will it hurt?"

But before Chris can finish rolling his eyes, I raise my hand. "Does this mean I can go now?"

Chris sneers at me, gesturing to Seely sharply. Seely, a blank look on his face, shrugs and pokes me hard with the damn sword again.

"_I'M AWAKE, YOU BASTARDS!_"

"I know," Chris replies blithely. "That was just to piss you off. No, you heard what I said before – you're to stay _here_ until Sendhil gets back. He's the only one who can determine if you're well and safe enough to leave. He's the doctor, not me."

"So what are _you_, then?" Rich asks, with something closer to curiosity than a challenge.

Chris glances over at him quickly before answering simply, "A _Nispar_ and Energy Arts Master."

"So you're a Master of both--"

"We've been through this before," Chris interrupts dully, then cautiously maneuvers Seely and Rich next to each other before doing that flicking thing with his hand again.

A second later, he flicks his hand again, but this time it's simply a dismissive wave. "Okay, you're free to go."

Seely blinks in surprise. "That's it? That was your spell?"

"He _is_ a _Master_," I taunt – which Chris flips around to stab me in the back:

"Oh, except Seely, you have a tag-along now. And don't forget, even a slow blink could indicate him failing at staying alert."

Seely grins at the prospect, pointing the sword at me menacingly.

"Great," I huff for the tenth time today. "Another freak with a penchant for violence."

"C'mon," Seely urges. "I've got some stuff to talk to Angel about, you might as well hang around to hear that too."

My shoulders slump in defeat, but I shuffle after him anyway. Seely's not such a bad guy, really, but I have to utter as we climb the stairs, "Just remember your own strength when you poke me, _Utral_."

He snickers, assuring me he'll do so – and as I throw a pleading look over my shoulder at my previous captor, wondering if perhaps burying myself in dusty old books isn't the better option, I notice curiously that, even as Chris returns to the "danger zone" of the lab, Rich lingers behind, watching him from the safe side of the curtain.

By slight movements of his body and head, and the barely visible glint in his eyes, I can tell that somehow, Rich seems... _intrigued. _Maybe it's just the stone, but the closer I look, I'm beginning to wonder if the stone is what's really holding his attention. Something _else –_ my keen sense of sight and slight bit of premonition from that ability – tells me it's not the stone he keeps staring at... but the little guy with the ridiculously big eyes, who, like Sendhil, seems so absorbed by the work at hand that he doesn't even realise he's being studied.

_Rich_, being interested in another _person?_ I've worked with the bloke for over a month now, so I can say in all honesty – hell, that in itself is interesting enough to me to forget about the threat of being mauled for the rest of the day by that fucking _sword_.

Rich

After the careful set-up of the stone, Chris tells me he's rearranged the curtain so that I can get to my office, but actually asks if I can join him in the computer lab instead. There are countless books piled next to the one computer he's using, and as he flops (and then squirms into his usual perching position) into the chair in front of the glowing light, he sighs heavily, "I haven't had any luck finding anything of importance as to how or why the stone was made. I tried to get Simon to help me, but he can barely read Utarian anyway. I thought you might have a better grasp on the language and text."

I purse my lips, half flattered that he'd think that much of me, and half suspicious as to why it's taken him this long to research it. But I sit down anyway and start flipping through the delicate pages of one of the books.

As if reading my mind, he continues, "It's not like I've been putting this off. I've been checking all over for information about the stone, but I haven't been able to come up with much except what we have. It would be more helpful if we knew its origins, but so far all I know about the city-state of Jarakhara is its geographic location and some of its history."

"Does it mention anything about _Tifsims_ or Purists?"

"No," he sighs listlessly, gesturing to the computer with his rarely bare hands. "There were some civil wars there a few centuries ago, before Humans came here, so it could be a leftover relic from the ruins that caused. But I don't see why it would be infused with so much Dark energy, as the people of that city weren't known to possess those abilities."

"Unless," I point out, "it gathered the energy along the way – you know, being part of a ruin of a city that still exists, but ending up halfway around the world a few hundred years later... That thing must've picked up a few diseases, so to speak."

But Chris is shaking his head, eyebrows fixed in concentration as he absently chews at his thumbnail. "No... That would mean I would be able to sense some more modern-based energies, newer and more widely varied sources. All I draw from that stone is an ancient, direct evil; as if it's from one lineage, one family, one..."

It takes me a moment to realize Chris has gone silent, and when I glance over at him, he's staring up at the ceiling, thumb jammed inside his mouth. I lean forward a bit, hesitant to nudge his arm because I don't want to shock him, but I need to know what he's thinking.

"Chris?"

He doesn't respond, too absorbed in his mind to recognize his false name. I try to use my empathic abilities on him, but even that doesn't result in much except a confirmation of his deep concentration – and a mixed, chaotic, structureless mess inside his head, but one I suspect he must be able to fathom in order to come to some kind of conclusion.

Finally, he pops his thumb out of his mouth and leans toward the pile of books, dragging one from beneath two others. "Hmm."

"What is it?"

He starts paging through it, stammering a bit to get out his thoughts as they struggle to take form in his racing mind. "One lineage... Might suggest one family... Maybe the one of this _Tifsim_... Maybe it traces back to the city... If we go back far enough... But I don't know if there's enough information... Can't very well go and ask him..."

I wave my hand over the other books. "Want me to give you a hand?"

He pauses, as if just remembering my presence, and points to a thin one beside me. "That... Genealogies of citizens of Jarakhara from the civil war period. Maybe something familiar... Could lead to a Tr'ravast. Maybe some other form of it..."

So another hour is spent going through names and links, switching from books to computer and back again – all to no avail. We find a few family names that are similar to Gedgeon's, but whenever we try to trace back further, it leads us to a dead end.

Chris is obviously becoming flustered and frustrated by this point, which I know is unusual for him. Then again, not being able to solve a riddle like this within a few days is unusual for him, so it's no wonder he's becoming so impatient.

"Maybe it's not such a bad idea to spread the effort," he slurs slightly as he stands from his chair, slipping a bit. I reflexively reach out to re-balance him, and my hand on his rake-thin arm should cause him to reel back, at least slightly. But he has to be beyond caring by now, as he merely catches the side of my chair with a hand and doesn't brush me away immediately.

"'M okay," he says, patting my shoulder. "Jus' tired. Think I'll go..."

"Lie down for a bit?" I suggest. "There's a couch in my office."

But as he leaves the room, he heads in the opposite direction. I hear his soft voice a few feet from the doorway and lean back in my chair, peeking around the corner.

Sendhil has returned, and Chris is explaining everything to him – in Utarian, which I can easily understand, but his is so fast that I can barely keep up; he must want to get all the details out as soon as possible so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore. Sendhil, surprisingly, isn't fazed by any of this behavior, and nods along as he pulls on his lab coat and lets Chris cast a protective spell over him before letting him go near the stone. And as soon as Sendhil is in the actual lab, gazing in awe over the much sought-after gem, Chris is gone – before I even reach the door myself.

"Hey," I greet the doctor as I keep my distance from the barrier Chris says he's put up.

Sendhil glances up from the glowing stone and grins. "Hi. Thanks so much for all your hard work – to think, we finally have the thing here--"

But I shrug helplessly. "Really don't know what good it'll do – Chris says he can't get much off of it, even being right in front of it."

"Well," he goes on, eyes straying back to the gem, "Chris figures things out by touch, for the most part, and I'm sure he's wary of touching something like this. I can study it with protective gear on, but I suspect he'll want to get some energy and sleep before he interprets it with his hands."

I nod slowly, recalling how weary he seemed before disappearing. "I offered the couch in my office--"

"Oh, that's okay," Sendhil chuckles. "He has his own places to hide when he needs to recharge. Plus he said he was on his way to get a _real_ problem-solver to have a go at it, so I think he's gonna go ask Zach for some help. Zach should probably be told about Noel's condition first, though, so he doesn't get distracted and worried before he even gets to work..."

Sure enough, moments later, Chris and Zach are coming back down the basement stairs together, and immediately Zach strays from Chris's side to go to the cot in the med lab, asking Julian quietly (as Noel's now asleep) what happened.

Chris comes back to us and looks at me oddly. "No offense, I appreciate your help, but he's really very good with puzzles. I tend to get stuck on one track and can't get off of it – Zach has an ability to look at things differently when I get that tunnel-vision."

I shrug easily. "Hey, whatever works. Um, you _did_ warn him about Noel--"

Chris rolls his eyes, smirking a little. "I just told him he had a slight mishap with the stone and is sleeping it off, but apparently that explanation isn't good enough for him. It's all right," he adds, glancing over his shoulder as the two larger men speak in hushed tones over the smaller one, who's curled up into a ball now. There's a vague smile playing about Chris's lips, which is quite sweet. "Let him check on his friend." He turns back to us, his eyes passing over me quickly before mumbling softly, "I suppose I'd want the same thing if that ever happened to someone I care about."

I quirk an eyebrow in interest; I would expect him to blurt something like that out easily with Sendhil in the room – _meaning_ his long-time friend and guardian. But the way he says it, so shyly, and not even glancing in Sendhil's direction... I try to search him out again with my empathic powers, but his slight slip has already passed, and he's back to business, turning a firm face to me. "Are you up for a few more hours of debating? You don't have to--"

"No, I'll be fine," I assure him – then, just to test the waters and see how far I can get, I reach out and take his bare arm; when he doesn't lurch away, I urge him toward my office. "But I think maybe _you_ could use a little sleep."

It's only a matter of a few steps, but by the time we reach the open doorway, he's tensing up under my touch, and I quickly release him. Waving at the couch, I secretly hope he doesn't think me too presumptuous, pushing him like this without asking first.

Thankfully, Chris relents and nods without a word, even offering a grateful little smile along with his enormous eyes. He slips into the darkened room and I can hear the rustle of him getting comfortable on the couch, and when I'm sure he's all right, I turn around – right into Zachary, who's fully ready to get down to work.

"Chris says there's a puzzle needs solving." He's unusually chipper today, considering what I've been told and how he's been described by others. "Need a puzzle solved? I'm your man!"

I gape at his cheerful demeanor. Fuck – this place is twisting me all around!

He smiles widely over at Sendhil, who actually tears his eyes away from the gemstone to return the gesture, even adding a wave.

_Oh_. No wonder Zach's so perky today. Maybe after some of Noel's teasing this morning, he's finally realized how right the artist is – that he should look at this as a good thing. An opportunity. And the positive reaction he gets from Sendhil just now makes his grin even shier, which almost makes him look... _sweet_.

Now that's just something I find too amusing to concentrate on, so, lowering my head, I lead him into the computer room – and shut the door. Talk about distractions – not to claim I'm innocent myself, but if things keep going like this, we'll never get our answers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Angel's Vigilante... "Agency": The Stone of Jarakhara **

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seely

After going over some extra precautionary strategies regarding this new foe of ours with Angel (and poking Simon now and then to get a rise – or opinion – out of him), we receive a call over the intercom from Sendhil that he's now ready to report on the autopsy, and that Chris is almost ready to try interpreting the stone himself.

But there's no anticipation or intrigue allowed by my brother or me, as Simon interrupts any reaction instantly when he bursts out with, "Whatchoo mean, _now!?_ That mean you been back for a _while?_"

Confused to hear Simon's voice – as if he hadn't been stitching up the guy's head at all earlier that morning – Sendhil stutters, "Uh, well, y-yeah, about an hour or so--"

"You mean to tell me I been locked up in this cage with these two anal-retentive arseholes for an _hour_, while you were diddling about with that bloody stone the whole time!?"

"Well," Sendhil tries to amend, "I was also studying my notes from the autopsy--"

But Simon is too furious to let any excuse fly. "You were supposed to check me _out_ of this bloody makeshift hospital soon as you got back, ya wanker!" he hollers petulantly.

Sendhil actually sounds sheepish as he admits, "Oh, um, sorry – Chris was resting and Rich and Zach have been researching the history of Jarka—er, Jakra—um, Jethro--"

"Jarakhara, you fool!" Simon shouts indignantly, and Angel looks impressed that _someone's_ got it right besides himself and Chris.

"Yeah. They've been researching the history of the city... So I guess none of us thought to--"

"Just forget it!" Simon huffs, heading for the door as he yells toward the intercom. "I'll be down in a minute and out of your hair within _seconds._ Wasting my bloody time locked up here while I could be out there tryin' to find this _Tifsim_ git. Or home, _sleeping!_ I swear, _you_ people are all the ones with brain damage!"

Well, nobody seems able to come up with a disagreement for that, so Angel and I trudge down to the basement on our own, since Simon's already beat us to it. In fact, as soon as we open the door to the lab, the once angry Scotsman now beams at us as he pushes past and waves goodbye without another belligerent word.

Guess Sendhil cleared him right away because he truly _was_ okay, or else he had just had enough of the verbal abuse and wanted the ranting madman out of his sight. Really, Simon's not usually like that, but I guess trapping an alley cat that's used to being on the prowl in an enclosed space for too long can cause uncharacteristic behavior...

When we reach the lab, Sendhil is standing by the doorway, watching nervously as Chris studies the glowing blue stone – which somehow makes him look paler than usual, despite the darker light reflecting off his face. Julian, meanwhile, is helping a now conscious, mobile and slightly stronger Noel to his feet, pulling a jacket over his friend. Sendhil must have encouraged Julian to accompany Noel home to finish his recuperation, or else he just wants as few people there as necessary when Chris "does his thing." The door to the computer lab is still closed, suggesting Rich and Zach are in full puzzle-solving mode by now, but Sendhil hasn't alerted them to the fact that it's Chris's turn at the artifact – probably the most accurate method we have of finding out the truth of the mysterious object.

Unfortunately for Chris, I suppose. Though since he _is_ a Master of both Arts, it shouldn't be too strenuous on him. I think.

As Chris's eyes rake over the small but powerful rock, lips pressed into a tight line and brow furrowed in deep concentration, I see Julian and Noel out myself while Sendhil confirms our suspicions about Bainbridge's autopsy: fried inside-out, just like Simon had described in his lay terms, but Sendhil obviously feels this is the best way to describe it even from a medical point of view. Clearly an attack of a Dark Light spell of immediate death. Quite a powerful feat, even for a Master, but this _Tifsim_ we suspect probably isn't a Master, as he was too weak to do more than give Simon a – rather remarkable, but not lethal – bump on the head just after.

Jen flashes me a brilliant smile as she leaves for the day while I accompany the other two to the lobby. But her grin is quickly overtaken as, just after those three exit, I turn to see Angelina locking her office door. Her mere presence overpowers Jen's most adoring smile, and when the beautiful eyes catch me in their sights, she offers a dazzling grin of her own, if a bit weary from the day's work.

"Working late again?" she asks as I approach her casually.

I shrug. "No big deal. Better to put in a few extra hours than have someone's safety compromised."

Her smile fades and she instantly turns concerned. "Whose safety? Was someone hurt?"

Well, hell – me and my big mouth. I forget that she's so busy on this end, trying to mend others' lives, she's really in the dark about the people she supposedly works with and for being in danger. And considering Rich's words from before, perhaps it's better that the situation stays this way. It's enough of a burden for her to see the results of strangers' tragedies on a daily basis, let alone be exposed to the endless possibilities of threats her own friends face.

Simon. Noel. Even Chris becoming overwhelmed. The day's just barely over and three of our crew have been marked somehow.

So I merely smile and assure her, "Nothin' we can't handle, hon. But thanks for the concern."

Her expression now dubious, she glances toward the lab. "I saw you and Russell bring Noel in earlier," she admits quietly. "I was a bit busy, so I couldn't get away, but I really wanted to check--"

"He's fine now," I tell her confidently. "Just a bit woozy from putting his hands in some bad magic he should've been more careful with. But he'll get over it. Just saw him off myself and he seemed okay to me."

Angelina still seems troubled by this news – as we all tend to feel about, say, close siblings or the like – but only mutters, "Fool can't tell a bad spell from a safe one, huh? Doesn't surprise me."

But it clearly worries her.

Still, she brightens a bit as she buttons her long coat up and tells me, "Maybe I'll just have to call him up tonight and give him a big sister lecture on where he should keep his hands."

I chuckle at that. "Sounds a bit crude, but I think I get what you mean. He might not want to listen, but he needs to hear it. And I'm sure he'll take it more seriously coming from his _big sister_."

"He'd better," she threatens, flipping her lustrous dark hair over her shoulder.

I pause for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from that alluring face – no charms, no spells, no influence of a supernatural bent at all. Just typical, maternal Angie trying to stay calm and pleasant in the face of genuine danger among people she deeply cares about. And since she even cares for those on the street she doesn't _know_, I can't imagine the pain she must feel for someone she does.

I feel compelled to reach out to her, to touch her cheek and assure her I'll do everything in my power to protect him – all of them – but my hand refuses to comply, preferring to stick to Rich's warnings instead. Really, we're probably both better off without that blatant signal of affection. But the urge in my gut is strong.

"I'm off, then," she sighs, then adds (not as an afterthought), "Be careful, Seely. Maddy's still counting on you taking him to the zoo this weekend like you promised, you know."

I grin back at the reminder. "I wouldn't let the little guy down."

"Speaking of," she goes on, glancing anxiously at the darkening sky outside the lobby doors, "I should've been out of here to pick him up five minutes ago..."

"Oh, sorry for holdin' you up--"

And at the door she pauses again, showing me that namesake smile. "You're never a waste of my time, Booth. See you tomorrow."

And I wave at her back as she flutters – floats, glides – down the cement stairs to the pavement.

Nah. Even if I watch to make sure she gets to her car safely, my vigilance is only borne out of a longing to watch over a friend. A colleague. A comrade. Nothing more.

Though I suppose my vigilance is deemed misplaced even in my own mind when, minutes after her car disappears around the corner and I'm still staring out the glass door, a stifled cry from the basement and ensuing voices of distress reach my ears and I recall where I'm supposed to be. I rush downstairs, cursing my – only now acknowledged – infatuation for distracting me from my _duty_.

Rich

I never thought watching a man – or anyone, actually – hold a virtual rock could be so mesmerizing. But the glow of the stone, the wonder of enormous dark eyes being closed in concentration, the absolute stillness and silence of the room as Chris unlatched the artifact from the protective vice with his bare hands – it all became much more poignant when confronted with it, with my own eyes; maybe not to the others, who were merely watching for a reaction or a sign of his interpretation. For me, the image itself literally and figuratively put the _Nispar_ into a different light. Even witnessing it from several feet away from the protective veil of Light Art Magic he had previously enshrouded the lab in, after Sendhil asked Zachary and me to join himself and Angel in overseeing the process (for Chris's sake, no doubt), I could feel the waves of indescribable energy flowing through the room: the occasional fluctuation and flirtation between Light and Dark, the minute shifts of purity and evil rippling through the air as the Master "communicated" with the supposedly inanimate object.

With my curiosity running amok and my own inexplicable and acute – undeniable at this point – fascination with this "boy," this connection we seemed to have made from out of nowhere, I foolishly tried to read his emotions from across the room – only to be dazzled momentarily by some intangible force, thrown off balance slightly, and when I caught myself and reeled my mind back inward, I caught a faint urging to continue my metaphysical retreat. I blinked and saw Chris's round eyes open for only a millisecond, boring into mine despite the distance. But there was not a threat or a warning of accusation in them; only a silent plea to allow him this trial alone. For my own sake.

And it was no wonder he should have been so cautious with my psyche, if our "connection" is as genuine as I feel it is: a mere taste of what was actually happening, mixed with his own gentle nudge to not interfere, was the most intense – and selfishly gratifying (as he'd clearly wanted to protect me) – sensation I'd ever come across in all my years of accessing my ability. To put it another way, yes, this process was far out of my league, much as it pains me to admit.

But none too soon were his eyes closed again, deep in a trance as he clutched the stone; he probably didn't know or care how entranced _we_ were – or, at least, _I_ was – by seeing a Master confronted by something even he deemed so dangerous and, ultimately, terrifying.

But after only a few minutes, my purely Human eyes are able to recognize signs anyone else should be able to see; the others must be too transfixed to notice, or perhaps they truly _can't_ tell that Chris has gone even whiter, has begun trembling, his eyelashes fluttering sporadically. Perhaps it's just that whatever this gemstone is all about, as curious and intrigued as I was about it at first, another intrigue has since overtaken my initial one, and I'm noticing things I probably shouldn't as a scientist – I'm noticing things only one who desperately hopes for this connection to be real would see.

More concerned about the conduit than the outcome. Even the so-called "older brother" and "caring leader" seem too rapt by the steady glow to realize the obvious distress Chris is in. The "scientists" continue their experiment – while I can hear Chris's sudden, sharp gasps from across the room, which causes my heart to beat faster in a beginning stage of mild panic.

_Why does no one else see it? Or say anything!?_

Perhaps, the thought occurs with both logic and hope, he and I _are_ more connected in some way than the others are to him. Yes – even Sendhil. But at the moment, I can't possibly pinpoint how or why. That's not my immediate concern.

"Hey," I say quietly, leaning toward Sendhil though my eyes remain glued to the small man on the other side of the room. "Shouldn't we... do something?"

My previous notion must be true in some capacity, because Sendhil blinks, turning to me blankly. "Huh? Do what? Why?"

And as I turn my head to catch his gaze with my own bewilderment, I miss the actual motion but hear Chris's sudden cry – a sound unlike I would have imagined from him, not a girlish yelp or a quiet whimper, but a short, harsh blurting of something indecipherable, his usual tone but at a louder pitch – as he drops the stone to the lab desk in front of him, stumbling back against the counters behind him.

Immediately we snap into action – all of us surging forward as a unit despite the invisible veil of Light. But while all Angel and Zach – and a suddenly re-appearing Seely – can do is catch themselves on the opposite side of the lab desk, Sendhil hurriedly retrieves the stone with protective gloves and replaces it in the vice – and I, instead, rush to Chris's side as he starts slithering down the surface of the counter at his back. His wave to keep the others at bay is swiftly ignored by me, and surprisingly, he fails to reprimand me for this. In fact, my hands on his bare arm don't seem to put him off at all as he allows me to lift him back to sturdy feet.

Wide black eyes flicking back and forth between the stone and Angel, Chris speaks breathlessly, "That's no artifact, Angel, it's nothing like what we thought--"

Angel's fists clench together on the lab desk, immediately jumping to the wrong conclusion. "It's a fake!?" he roars, obviously having had enough of this run-around.

But Chris is shaking his head fervently – and, strangely, his cold but soft hands find my wrists – and clutch them fiercely.

"It's the stone we sought, no doubt," he gasps, terror in his voice and face. "But it's nothing of what we thought--" His head snaps in Zachary's direction, fleetingly taking in my own expression of apprehension as well (though mine is more for his failing physical state than this new discovery he seems so shocked by).

"We were looking in all the wrong places – the stone isn't an artifact, it's not a piece of a ruin. It's nothing to do with the city of Jarakhara. It's... _alive_."

At this, Angel's fists go slack, as does his jaw – but not Chris's grip on me. Sendhil stands slowly, gaping at him.

"_Alive?_"

Chris swallows hard and nods, staring at the stone as if it's about to attack him – which, in essence, I suppose it already did.

"It's not a gemstone from Jarakhara – the ancient city _or_ today's metropolis."

Zachary lets out a sigh of relief. "Well, good – means we don't have to travel all the way to--"

But Chris is shaking his head again. "This is not _good_. I'd much rather have to travel to another continent than have to deal with this. It's a _blood_gem," he informs us morbidly. "And very active. Its origins are not of a place, not of a structure, but of a person..." He stares daggers of warning at Angel. "A person of Gedgeon Tr'ravast's heritage. Jarakhara was a _man_, a Utar _man_. A _Tifsim_, just like Gedgeon. One of... One of the first – I only know because of the gem itself. There would be no recorded history with his name – look anywhere in this world from centuries ago, senseless carnage and violence: any of it could have been his doing. He was an abomination then, even more so than _Tifsims_ are considered now. He was a vile and wicked creature, and he passed that bloodline on through generations – whether his offspring were _Tifsim_ or not, the rage within him lived on inside of them. But no one was ever able to document his existence – because he killed anyone he pleased. And if he would have been mentioned by someone, that person was eliminated. A violent, powerful man lost in time – except for this."

"Jarakhara," Angel repeats softly, pointing to the stone thoughtfully. "An ancestor of Gedgeon. An uncontrollable _Tifsim_ named Jarakhara."

Chris nods. "Pure Dark Arts Magic infused in his blood..."

"Which he or someone else," Angel continues, "made into a gem before or as he died. To keep the spirit of his existence... alive."

Again, a shaky nod, and I feel the brush of Chris's soft hair barely touch my chin – his hold on me only strengthening, pulling him closer against me by his own volition.

But I don't have time to revel – however silently – in this inexplicably fast-earned trust, as Sendhil goes on, "If he's of Gedgeon's bloodline, then our current murderer is linked to it – genetically, metaphysically. He can sense it."

Chris's head whips toward him, his voice strained with realization. "Not only can he sense the bloodgem – he most likely already knows we have it, but is too weak to enter here and take it with all of us around to keep him away from it. But he can also sense..."

Angel is already turning to his brother, yanking him to the door to the lab.

"Wha--"

"He'll sense who's been in contact with the bloodgem," Angel finishes Chris's previous thought. "Being weak himself, he'll go after anyone who is vulnerable. At this point, we've all been near it – even the team of crackheads I call 'my brawn with no brains.' But they're not who I'm worried about."

Zach gives a start, then blurts out the obvious: "Noel touched it with his bare hands – he's weak, his powers are off, and he already left... with Julian..."

A mere Human with no Utar abilities at all. This does not bode well.

Angel nods, nudging Seely to the door. "You have to find them right now, bring them back here – they're our priority, since this maniac can sense it but can't get near it. He'll use whatever he can to get to it, just like you said before, Sen. But he's weak – that's why a _Utral_, even one who's been near the gem, could take him out; especially you, Seely."

At first Seely looks stunned, then horrified at the implied order – but when Angel points out his advantage over the _Tifsim_ right now, his courage rises again and he gives his brother a stoic glare and firm nod.

"I'll find 'em before he does," he assures him, as if he knows already exactly where they are.

Which is nonsense, as they could be anywhere between here and their home by now, but at least he knows where that home is, so it's a pretty solid lead.

As Seely leaves, Angel barks orders to Sendhil and Zach to start contacting everyone else by phone, cell, communicator, just to make sure they're all right.

Then he comes to a stop between the table holding the stone and the counter against which I'm now supporting practically all of Chris's slight weight with one arm. He's since huddled against my chest, still gawking at the bloodgem as if he can't believe such a thing can still exist after so many centuries. In fact, he's so close now I can feel him trembling...

Angel must finally notice how shaken Chris is, because he thinks fast, cleverly grabbing a thick black canvas covering a row of expensive microscopes, and (much to Sendhil's unspoken chagrin) hurls it over the vice holding the gem.

Despite his hardened face and determined eyes, Angel speaks softly to Chris.

"Let us take care of this for now. Lie down in Rich's office, get your strength back; we'll track everyone else down and make sure they're okay."

Chris nods meekly, then releases one hand from my wrist to point at the covered bloodgem. "We have to destroy that thing. You work on finding everyone – but I can't possibly rest. I'll try to think of a way to destroy it."

Angel considers for a moment: argue with a visibly shaken _Nispar_ to "rest," or let an Energies Master meditate on how to eliminate a piece of solid evil?

"Okay," he relents, though I suppose the two options are really one and the same. I doubt Chris would be able to truly "rest" after being touched by that old and great a threat.

Angel gives me a trusting nod, and I begin to help the _Nispar_ back into my office to at least _sit_ on the sofa.

As Angel joins the other two in contacting the rest of the missing members of our staff, and Chris sits on the edge of the sofa and holds his head in his hands, I can feel his mind racing as I shut the door and slide into the chair at my desk. I refrain from speaking for a long time; he clearly wants time to work through plans and ideas in his mind, and having glimpsed a bit of it myself once, I know there's nothing I can do to help him in this endeavor. Though I do secretly keep a covert eye on him as his gaze slides from side to side, deep in thought.

And instead of intruding on those thoughts, I let my own mind wander a bit.

I can't help finding some amusement in all of this. A horrible situation, yes, but minor details, noticed best by a newly arrived employee, can be very telling. Especially for one with my abilities.

Between how Simon treated and spoke to (yelled at) Angel today, and how much the leader relies on his brother's strength, Sendhil's medical and scientific knowledge, and Chris's powerful mastery (not to mention the tiny man's uncanny occasional tyrannical plans and directions), I have to wonder – despite Angel's claims – who really _does_ run this company?

It's plain as day, actually: Angel brought them all together under his own vision; he has a magnificent eye for talent and intelligence. That in itself is a considerable gift.

But this group of "vigilantes," these miscreants and socially atypical breeds, they truly _are_ just that: an amalgam of starkly contrasting individuals with unique strengths and abilities, thrown together at random – and, surprisingly, they've found a way to work together that surpasses even the highest levels of government I've encountered or interpreted.

This "agency" is entitled to Angel, in name and basis only – but the "vigilantes" themselves run the whole operation, with merely an approval from the leader. And Angel seems content with that set-up. As well he should – from what I've learned of this ten-year-old agency, and seen with my own eyes, the synchronization of the comparatively small staff is remarkable for all they've accomplished.

Yes, even including "the thugs."

Angel's agency, this entire operation, is, quite simply put, a remarkable effort. With so many different angles, there's no way something goes unnoticed, no way someone is overlooked or ignored. A small company with truly caring people – no matter how drastic and overwhelming the personalities among them. It's like an insane asylum run by the mental patients themselves, but one which functions as it _should_.

That's quite an accurate analogy, I believe. And I rather like that about this place.

Noel

Even feeling ragged and spent, I'm alert enough by six-thirty to recognise my surroundings. Julian's careful tending to me is quite touching, not to mention telling of how much more he values my well-being over all the others'. Though I don't need it, he helps me on with one of his own coats (I rarely think logically enough to dress for the weather, so the crisp air outside today hadn't occurred to me until his anal-retentive caution reminds me of the temperature) and then holds protectively onto my arm as we head out of the lab. Seely unnecessarily escorts us upstairs, maybe a subconscious hope to catch a certain Utar female in the process driving him to do this. I would tease him about it, but I still feel a bit under the weather, so I keep quiet and let Ju lead me out into the chilled, dark night.

In the car, I feel myself melt into the comfortable passenger seat as Ju lets the motor run and the air heat up. To look at how Chris and I dress, people would probably forget that we're still in the middle of winter technically, but – and I doubt many people realise this – with our energy abilities, we can sort of shield ourselves from the planet's weather and be comfortable wearing tank tops in snow, and trench coats in humidity – all in the name of fashion.

But tonight I can't quite control or activate these powers, so for once I'm grateful for Ju's foresight – instead of teasing him for being so utterly Human and vulnerable to the elements, I happily sink into the oversized coat he's stuck on me. I'm also lucky he's too concerned about me to bring up the teasing on his end for my inability to use my powers at the moment. I expect it, but it never comes. Obviously this means he's too worried about me to think of trying to tear into me. It's rather sweet, actually, how he refrains from it, only reminding me what a kind and generous guy he truly is toward me, underneath the edgy, sarcastic surface.

I don't even notice when we get on the road; I drop into a daze of ultimate comfort and doze off a bit, even though we barely live three miles from the agency. Still, Ju has to softly nudge me and quietly tell me we're home when he shuts the car off. He jokingly (I think, as he has a slight smile on his face, though his eyes are a touch earnest) asks if I'd like him to carry me inside, but I just chuckle and assure him I can manage a short trek around to the front of the old brick building and up a few wooden stairs to the porch.

Though I begin to reconsider when confronted by the two flights of staircases behind the front door we'll have to climb once we get to the ragged steps to the porch.

As Julian flips through his giant ring of random keys (really, besides the car keys, the front door and flat keys, and a mailbox key, what else does he have or need that many keys for?) to find the correct one, I lean against the front door and gaze forlornly through the orange-tinted window at the first set of stairs. Steep and narrow, typical for buildings around this area holding such small flats as we share (granted, it _had_ been intended only for one person when he'd first moved in, but still, it does get a bit stuffy in there sometimes... though it has come to feel like the closest thing to home I've ever had by now).

I struggle with myself over whether or not to take his previous offer seriously, but my thoughts are interrupted by Ju's half-joking, "This might take less time if you unlock the door with those powers of yours – oh wait, you might not be able to yet--"

I fake a bitter laugh, thinking this taunt is the perfect ammunition to throw his earlier suggestion back at him just for the sake of being a stubborn tart. But I can't find it in me to be that snappy yet – instead, I hesitate just before asking timidly, "Ju... um... think maybe I could... y'know... get a piggy-back the first staircase?"

Ju pauses in his key search, staring at me quizzically, not sure if I'm kidding or not, or if this really is that retaliatory jab for his joke. But at my averted gaze and sheepish smirk, he answers honestly, "Sure thing, little man." He clears his throat and adds with a chuckle, "But then you may need to return the favour for the second flight."

I giggle lightly, then groan, "You're never gonna let me forget this, are you?"

"No, sir," he insists, finally finding the correct key and sliding it into the lock.

But before he can turn the handle – or even wipe the smile off his face – a kind of dark shadow seems to pass over us both. Not visible, per se, but I sense its presence immediately, gasping outwardly at the intensity of the negative force of the unseen energy. Despite my own start, I'm more thrown when Julian's once sturdy, straight form suddenly freezes up – before sharply collapsing to the porch without a hint of resistance. My own reaction is a bit more oppositional, my body leaning harder against the door to keep me on my feet, but the technically weaker of the two of us goes down without a fight.

Struggling to stay upright, I gape down at Julian's limp form, mumbling uncertainly, "Ju? Julian? You... You okay?"

Though I can scarcely breathe at this point, something tightening slowly around my throat as my voice comes out scratchy and strained. I realise dimly that it's the string of beads I've been wearing all day, come to a life of their own somehow, trying to pressure my throat closed without any help from a physical hand.

Despite this, I'm far more troubled by Julian, who isn't moving at all, even as just my breath becomes audibly rasping. When I dare to lean down slightly to grasp his shoulder and shake him, the only sound from him is the jingly clunk of the full keyring hitting the wood beneath us, falling from the lax fingers hidden from my view.

Heart pounding furiously now, no doubt helped by the torturous, slow gripping around my neck cutting off my oxygen, I flop down to my knees, grabbing at my beads with one hand whilst groping Ju's arm with the other – half to steady myself and half to throttle him fiercely. Panic had already started rising in me, from the moment he froze up, but now it's starting to reach soaring levels inside me when I get no response – not even the typical grunt of a dismayed, "Don't touch me."

"Julian!" I cry then, my voice ripping out of me rather unattractively, but I'm too desperate to hear that usually scathing order to care about what I sound like. "Oi! Ju, what's wrong, mate? Eh? Wake up!" Every word burning my throat on the inside as I try to shout them out, but they only come as weak mewls; meanwhile, the beads are creating harsh pinches on my skin, pulling my entire body backward inch by inch by some unknown force.

That's all I can get out before another wave of darkness passes over me, stronger this time. I gasp again, and, almost against my will, my Light Arts abilities kick in, however weakly, and react defensively toward the Dark magic attack.

I may not have much strength left, but that automatic defense certainly saps me of a chuck of the remainder – and the collision of the two opposing energies causes a dramatic reaction, a small but powerful bit of an explosion, my beaded necklace breaking apart – I can hear them rolling every which way across the porch – and black smoke erupting between me and whoever is striking out at me.

It's obvious which of the two energies is stronger at the moment, as the force of the small virtual bomb blows me literally to the edge of the porch, lurching me away from Julian's inert form to smash my back into the white-painted wooden slats supporting the handrail.

The impact of the crash knocks the rest of what little air I have in my lungs out of me, and when I gasp for breath I only take in the black smoke which blinds my eyes, causing me to cough and heave like I'm sickeningly hungover. My eyes start to well as the smoke overwhelms me, but I try to peer through the darkness to keep a visual mark on Ju. Even with the drain of energy and the painful result of being thrown back so violently into solid wood (to the point of splintering it), a sudden adrenaline rush from the shock takes on an easy target. I focus on the dim figure of Ju's immobile body through teary, stinging eyes and start trying to crawl back toward him.

"Ju," I hack, knowing (and not caring) just how pathetic I must seem, the smoke still lingering and choking me from inside-out; I suppose now that the beads are useless, something else has to step in to continue the torture.

I barely get a foot from the edge of the porch, on my hands and knees, when another shadow covers me – and hovers. A true, genuine shadow, from a true, genuine physical being. Slowly, I try to crane my neck back, looking up at the person who is obviously our attacker.

It's dark out, and the light on the front porch is dim at best, but even through these obstacles, the smoke, and my overwhelming, returning lack of strength, I can make out the faint shade of red framing a hideously sneering face – unfamiliar to my eyes, but my senses (though sluggish) are sharp enough to know...

"You," I grind out of my gravelly throat, jerking back a bit as he starts lowering into a squat, angry eyes, emanating an undoubtedly glowing violet, glaring at me heatedly.

"_You_," he returns with a thick foreign accent, hissing and sharp. "You've had my bloodgem in your hands – _my_ bloodgem. It's rightfully _mine_," he nearly shouts, and finishes his proclamation with a fierce blow to my face, jerking my head to the side and drawing a grunt from me as the impact sends me sideways.

But he won't let me follow through with the force of nearly being knocked over; instead, he catches me by the arm, yanking me closer to him. I hold up a hand, only a flicker of light able to spark now, and try to ask (but it only comes out as a half-mumbled plea), "What'd you... do... to him..."

My main concern, throughout this brief, quick, and painful ordeal, is pushed aside as the _Tifsim_ leans closer to me, despite my trying to back away. His grip on my arm is intolerable, but I try again to ask what he's done to Julian, terrified by the utter lack of response from my typically too-high-strung friend. The _Tifsim_ interrupts my stumbling words by lifting a large, heavy hand to my forehead, and I ramble nonsense in a panic as I know what he's about to do.

But my begging does nothing to make him pause; the dark energy flows over me like a mutant, over-productive virus, rendering my body a pitiful heap of flesh and bone, and my mind dulls to a buzzing drone. Conscious but barely aware, sights around me gone fuzzy and black and white and gray, my own slowed heartbeat and laboured breathing the only sounds I can focus on. I vaguely sense him moving about my motionless form, then feel myself being lifted, held like a child, but for my head lolling back to dangle helplessly over one of his steely muscular arms. As the faint but persistent paranoia about Julian rolls around in my mind, my altered vision only takes in the wonder of seeing the world upside-down; my _Avaraura_ tendency notes distantly that this is quite a strange, unique yet interesting angle – but that sense is drowned out by the panic.

Panic about what is happening to me, and panic about what this monster's done to Julian. But the spell he's cast on me refuses to allow me any leeway to freedom, and I'm a useless dummy, a pointless ragdoll being carried off to who knows where by someone I know I should be – and am – terrified of.

Angel

After contacting everyone else and confirming that they're safe (yes, even Spike), even suggesting them returning to the agency for additional security (stronger in numbers – which was mostly dismissed as nonsense, though James did try to persuade his charge), I hesitate when the last name on my list comes up – last only because I dread having to make the call. Here we'd forced him to stay with us, indoors, for nearly the entire day, and now, only hours after being released, I'm wanting to call him back. And there's no real reason, actually, apart from his being in the same room as the then-heavily protected bloodgem, but now with this new knowledge, I feel the urge to reconnect just on the basis of my own paranoia.

Besides, with his abilities and prowess, he could be just what we need right about now...

I let out a heaving sigh and dial Simon's cell number, knowing he won't pick up at home (how can one answer when one isn't there? And I'm certain Simon hasn't stepped foot in his apartment since leaving it that morning, knowing him, despite all those claims of wanting to go home and sleep), and considering the night usually brings with it a lessened intensity of the smothering atmosphere of this planet. Besides, I haven't yet fixed the problem with his destroyed communicator, and the weasel snuck out of here before I could present him with a new one. Whether this had been deliberate or not, the fact is, he's without one now. So I can only hope that the air isn't thick with distortion as I call his cell.

Thankfully, he picks up after two rings and immediately curses me out for contacting him – expectedly – after just having gotten away from me. But after informing him of our new discovery and the possible new threats this means for all of us, he calms down enough to be reasonable.

"I suppose that means you've sent Seely after Noel and Ju," he surmises, and I can tell he's been huffing it around the city since being "freed," as he's slightly winded and seems to be continually moving.

"Yeah," I confirm. "You'd already gone and--"

"Oh, please, you wouldn't've sent me after 'em – I'm just a Human with good eyes," he sputters. "As if I could take him out. I think this morning proved that theory wrong."

I shrug to myself, pursing my lips over my own pointless overstatement of the obvious. "Okay, yeah. But that doesn't mean you're not needed."

"Wot?" he says flatly. "You want me to go 'n see if I can trail the cunt?"

"If it's possible – maybe start out at the warehouse docks, the crime scene, since there shouldn't be many police there by now, and see what you can pick up--"

"Oi, ya bloody wanker, you're mentally retarded, you know that?" he laughs triumphantly. "Whatchoo think I been doin' the last three hours!? That's why I was so fuckin' annoyed you kept me there that long, ya geezer, I was waitin' for ya to let me go so I could go do my bloody _job!_"

I blink, startled by his claim. "Oh... But I didn't give an order to--"

"Y'didn't have to, mate," he utters. "I'm always a few steps ahead of ya, keep that in mind. I been tracking this cunt since I was _emancipated_, and lemme tell ya, it's been a bloody helluva trip tryin' to keep up with his trail. But I think I have some leads, so if you don't mind, and if you're sure enough that his target's really Noel, then you'd better hang up and let me get back to some work so I can find 'em, right?"

I clear my throat indignantly, but admit, "Sounds like a good idea..."

"Course it's a bloody good idea!" he affirms rather cheerfully for the situation. "You don't keep as close an eye on me as your other employees, so you forget how I think – bein' on the street don't mean yer brains turn to mush. If anything, they grow sharper."

I nod in agreement, though he can't see me. "I suppose that's an accurate--"

"Look, can I go now? I may be on to something if you'd bloody well hang up already."

"Okay," I smirk, and try to say goodbye, but he's already cut me off. And it's just as well anyway, because at that moment, the doors to my office burst open and two forms come rushing inside.

Chris looks a mess, even for him – hair scattered and oily, white face covered in perspiration, eyes wider than usual (an almost laughable sight, really), panting harshly.

"Felt a – surge – bad energy," he gasps out, groping for the front of my desk as if he's about to collapse. "You have to – call them – right now--"

I look up to Rich, who's followed the ranting _Nispar_ up the two long flights of stairs at almost the same (presumably rapid) pace, slightly breathless himself and something akin to confusion etched on his uncharacteristically concerned face.

Rich holds his arms out helplessly, explaining more clearly, "I'm not sure. He was trying to come up with a way to destroy the stone, and then he just jumped up--"

"_No!_" Chris suddenly shouts, flailing an arm back toward Rich. "No, we can't destroy it, not yet, we need it – it's valuable, he knows it, he'll use it, he has a plan now, I'm sure of it--"

"And suddenly," Rich continues over the rumblings of Chris's inner thoughts barely reaching earshot, "he just sort of... jerked up, looked like he'd been jolted from behind or something. Started raving about bad energy, some kind of strong sense he couldn't pinpoint, other than it not being far from here..."

I feel my hands clenching hard now on top of my desk, my gut turning over as I jump from one subject to a very possible outcome – a leap over several steps of reasoning, but feels logical by instinct.

"You and Noel are linked in a way," I say to Chris, as if I can cut through his racing mind by bringing him back to reality with my voice. "You both have Light Art abilities, yours stronger – but being a Master, you can sense an outbreak, so to speak..."

Gradually, the flow of mixed English and Utarian ebbs and he nods at me, watching my eyes directly as if he can communicate his thoughts telepathically. Which he can't, technically, but I'm _not_ as stupid as Simon makes me out to be.

"Julian and Noel live within three miles of here," I go on. "You can detect a surge of those energies from that far away, yes?"

Again, Chris nods quickly, gulping harshly before going on, "I felt a powerful blow – negative energy, and I tuned in immediately--"

Nevermind asking what exactly _that_ means...

"--and I recognized Noel's energy, trying to fight back against something, but he was too weak and it faded out quickly. But I don't doubt it, I _know_ - Gedgeon got to him before Seely did, he _has_ him, Angel, he has him right now – we were too late--"

I hold up my hands, trying to calm the hysterical _Nispar_, though I stand from my chair at the same time, proving my own worry is overtaking the calm I try to push on him. "Look, okay, going by what you say you sensed--"

"I _felt_ it, Angel!" he hollers, and this time Rich has to grab him by the arms to keep him from lunging at me in a frenzy; surprisingly, the usually squeamish _Nispar_ doesn't try to shake him off, but falls back into the chest behind him, gasping slightly. "I felt it," he repeats, back to his familiar low drone. "I know it, Noel's in danger – I can't sense him, which means he's being covered by some kind of spell, or... or... or worse," he grinds out with a cringe.

Rich is patting Chris's shoulders soothingly, I note, as he mumbles familiar assurances in soft tones – in Utarian, no less – into his ear, and I'm startled that his actions seem to be working. Chris's panting begins to slow, his eyes return to "normal" size, and his panicked trembling starts to subside.

As I walk to the front of my desk to face them without obstacles, I tell them both with some certainty, "Seely should be at their place soon, and he'll get back to me right away about what he finds there. Also, Simon's been tracking Gedgeon's trail since he left here, and he says he already has some leads as to where the guy's hiding out. If Noel's... okay..." Even I have trouble trying to think otherwise, and I refuse to push myself to do so. "...then we'll find out where Gedgeon's holding him. We can work out from there what to do next – how to rescue Noel _and_ dispose of this bloodgem Gedgeon's so hellbent on getting his hands on."

Chris looks up at me, his brow scrunched in desperation. "We can't destroy it, not yet--"

I hold up my hands again. "I wasn't going to suggest it – surely Gedgeon will figure out, if he doesn't already know, _who_ has his bloodgem, and he's just waiting for us to make a move... now that he has bait."

Rich closes his eyes briefly as he sighs with despondency. "Shit. I knew you were gonna use that word."

I nod helplessly. "That's basically what this is now – Gedgeon will want a trade. If he suspects how much we value our employees--"

"_Friends,_" Chris corrects sternly – which startles both me and Rich into taking a moment to glance at him before recovering ourselves.

"Y-Yeah," I stutter. "If he's counting on that, how much we value our... friends... then he'll know we'd trade the gem for Noel's safety."

Chris blinks several times, as if his eyes are dry, or he's holding something back – perhaps tears?

Chris? Crying? Nah... Must just be dry in this room and I haven't noticed...

"We can't let him have it," he insists, completely turning his emotional distress around somehow.

I squint at him; perhaps Chris has popped a screw somewhere in his brain – all this excitement and tension, it would certainly explain his ping-pong behavior...

"But if we're going to get Noel back safely--"

Chris shakes his head firmly to interrupt me. "There's no way... Or, rather, there's _another_ way..."

I lean closer, studying his eyes carefully, and strangely, I can see the glow of his internal thoughts playing through his black irises.

"There's another way," he repeats vaguely, starting to turn toward the door, stepping out of Rich's hold. "Just give me some time – I can replicate it. I'll make another one – a fake one. It won't be nearly as strong," he mumbles, more to himself than to me, "but if given enough time, I can make one that'll fool him long enough to get what we want... If we just have the time... But we need to find Noel as soon as possible, before he does anything too..." He cringes and turns back to me in the doorway.

"I need time," he repeats, as if he hasn't already said this aloud. "Keep looking for Noel, don't stop at all – but let me be alone in the lab, so I can work on this. No disturbances. I might be able to--"

"Make a replication of the bloodgem," Rich finishes with a nod.

Chris stares at him oddly. "How'd you--"

"You were talking out loud again," Rich smirks, as if this type of scenario has played out before between them.

Chris's eyes dart around for a moment, as if startled by himself, then he recommences his mumbles as he turns toward the staircase. "Don't want him hurt badly, but if we don't find him in time... But that's exactly what I need, is time..."

Rich casts me an offbeat look and gestures toward the now slow-moving, thoughtful _Nispar_. "I think maybe I should..."

I nod my assent for him to follow the other, and Rich continues down the staircase after him. A moment later, a loud, continual beep from my communicator, which is connected to Seely's, shakes me out of my stupor – nearly giving me a heart attack. Not just because it catches me off guard; but that type of signal from the communicator means only one thing: _emergency_.


	8. Chapter 8

11

Angel's Vigilante… "Agency" CHAPTER 8Warning: This bit contains some nasty things like drugging and noncon. Just wanted to say up front.

This is all fiction though.

Noel

I am honestly terrified, though I can't show it. I've lived here half my life and I still can't focus enough to be able to tell where he's taking me. Granted, my new upside-down perspective is enough to throw me off anyway, but even if I was upright, I doubt I'd be able to recognize my surroundings.

He's not exactly being very gentle with me either. As he's taking side streets and alleyways, many of which I'd not be able to discern in daylight, my lolling head bumps against brick buildings and concrete walls, scraping my own loose and dangling hand over coarse material. The thought to grab on and pull away doesn't even occur to me – it'd be futile anyway. And the way he jostles me around like I really _am_ some useless rag doll, well, it starts to make me feel queasy, but any slurred gurgling I manage to make is ignored. Not like he's gonna take a breather to see if I'm all right – he's put a bloody Dark Arts spell on me, of _course_ he don't care!

Still, none of this compares to the aching question still burning in my gut and teetering on the tip of my numb tongue – what's he done to Julian? Why'd he fall over like… I hate to think it… just like that? What kind of evil spell did he put on him? Was it the same as he's done to me and I'm just more able to stay conscious because Ju's only a Human, and my Light Arts powers are keeping me going? How bad was it?

Despite my frozen body, my heart is beating like mad, my mind racing like a horse in a derby. But my motor functions are nil, so I can't even get the words out. I try to several times, but all that comes out is that low grumble I can't control.

Eventually, though, I notice my hand twitching of its own accord – well, not really; more like finally realising its strength and connection to my brain, my will. Whatever spell this freak's put on me is slowly wearing off, which must be why he's hurrying to get me…wherever we're going. Must mean his powers are still weak from this morning.

My functions starting to return, I lurch slightly in his arms, but his brute strength over me wins out as he clutches me tighter. My lungs gasp out a half formed question: "What'd you…do…"

He doesn't seem to hear my babbling, but slows down a bit – not to listen, I realize, but when my eyes start to take in a clearer picture of our surroundings, I crane my neck down to find that we're at the top of a long set of steep concrete stairs. I can only really stare up after my head lolls back over his arm and notice that we're at an abandoned cathedral, one I recognise – a church of sorts. A Human church. Strange that he would pick this sort of place, as it's nothing to do with the dominating Pillar Spirits; but then, a church no longer tended by any Human Christian left in this city (there are still a few, but this one died out over a decade ago) makes sense. No one would set foot in it, not even a devout Purist Human Christian, as it was believed by the former owners and congregation to have been "tainted" by the more widely accepted Utar "gods."

And this mad _Tifsim_, under the cover of night, is attempting now to descend the dangerous staircase with me in his arms, which is the only reason he's slowed down at all. With my strength returning, I could struggle some, but in this precarious position, I'm too afraid he'll drop me and I'll go tumbling down on my own, banging myself up worse and returning me to my painful state.

Once we reach the bottom, though, I start trying to fight back – and realise I'm not completely recovered, as my movements are jerky and sloppy. He's easily able to pin me to one door while he unlocks the other with a dark spark of his powers, then wrestles me inside. When the loud clamour of the door shutting behind us echoes throughout a huge, empty space, I try to lunge for it again, but he catches me round the waist and hoists me up over his shoulder. He carries me up a small step – a miniature stage for former functions at this church, I presume – and takes me off to one side wing. I can't see what he's doing, but I hear the click of another door being opened and then he hauls me into a tiny room, literally throwing me against the opposite wall as he slams the door shut behind him and flicks on a dim overhead light.

Coughing and struggling to stay up on my wobbly knees, I use the wall at my back to steady myself and look around wildly, taking in the Spartan room – only some dusty blue mats piled high in one corner, a small table holding some rather frightening implements…and a set of sturdy lead pipes coming up from the ground and disappearing into the ceiling. This doesn't bode well at all, I think, as the pipes are only inches apart from each other. Perfect for…well…

And when my panicked gaze finally rests on the red-haired crazy man in front of me – though I hardly doubt I must look a bit mental myself by now, with that kind of scare and not knowing what's going on – I shudder to see his menacing grin. He stands by the door, a mere few feet away from my hunched, panting form, and eyes me up carefully.

"I see they still make them as pretty as they always have," he remarks in his thick accent – White Lands, I assess, from Ysatnaf. Purist Utar territory. How he ended up here is…well, probably because of the stone, I'm assuming.

But that's not what I care about right now. Finally finding my voice again, however ragged it sounds, I spit out, "What'd you do to him!? What'd you do to my friend!?"

His evil smile transforms into a snarl and he steps closer, landing a blow so hard to my head that I reel sideways, just barely catching myself on the adjacent wall – the corner of the room. He literally has me _cornered_ now.

I can feel blood starting to dribble down the side of my cheek, but as I reach up to shield my face in anticipation of another blow, he backs off. Surprised, I peek around my hands to see him yanking one of the blue mats from the top of the pile.

Before I can make another lunge for the door, he throws the mat my way, knocking me back into my corner as the thick blue-covered foam flops to the ground between us.

He gestures to it sharply, ordering, "Down."

Gawking, but still nearly doubled over in pain, I dare to sputter, "_What!?_"

He launches himself at me then, and another struggle ensues which I can't even hope to win. He pins me down on my back, exactly where he wants me I suppose, lands a few more blows to my face to stun me into submission, and I feel with those sharp punches more dark energy sapping me of my strength.

"Stop making me do this," he growls as he knocks my head to one side. "I hate messing up a face like yours…"

When he finally leans back, I'm dizzy just lying there, spluttering blood from my cut lip and my tearing eyes dancing in my aching head.

"You had my stone," he hisses as he jerks around on top of me, though I can't make out what he's doing. "You gave it to those cohorts of yours."

I feel something slip over one of my uselessly flailing hands, tightening around my right wrist, and with a few quick movements, my entire right arm is jerked sharply up over my head; I can feel the lead pipe against my skin – no doubt, my initial fear was right. He was planning to use these bloody things in the first place.

"You," he goes on, turning around on top of me to grapple with my kicking legs, "are going to tell me who these people are – what they want with my stone, why they have it – and I—" He yanks off my boots with a bit of a fight and tosses them aside, starting to wrap my ankles together the same way he tied me to the this stupid pole. "_I_ am going to use _you_ to get my precious stone _back_."

He whirls back around to face me, grinding into my gut as I gasp for air, and, grabbing my hair with one hand to keep my head still, leans over me with that disgusting leer. "_You're_ my prize possession now," he taunts, using his other hand to grip my chin firmly, looking into my fearful eyes. "But you're far less valuable to me than you are to them – _or_ than my stone."

Without thinking, going on pure indignation, I suck in some blood and spit it out right into his face, sneering back at his startled expression.

"You ain't gettin' _shit_ from me, ya wanker," I hiss back, angry that he'd presume me such an easy target, and comparing me to his bloody precious _stone_. Maybe he has the physical advantage – but if I'm so important to him at the moment, I can risk a bit of defiance. "Now what'd you do to my friend?" I growl back, as he's gone silent with shock over my unexpected display of disgust despite the state I'm in.

But maybe it wasn't such a swift move after all – he leans back again, letting go of my hair and chin, slowly wiping my blood and spit from his face, his glowing violet eyes narrowing whilst his snarl fades. Even in its absence, he _feels_ like a threat, and my lashing out from fear, confusion and desperation has steadied him into a more controlled state – not a good sign for me, I'm afraid.

"Fine," he states calmly – and then, for seemingly no reason at all, he starts reaching up to unsnap the top buttons of his obviously worn, dark shirt. The action makes me queasy, as I'm sure I know what's coming next… "If I can't get it from you voluntarily, I'll use what I have at my disposal. You won't need to say a word…"

And he stops undressing, merely pulling the opened bit of his shirt wider to reveal a small green object embedded in his chest. I squint at it, momentarily distracted by seeing it. The flesh around it is red and swollen, but the stone shard glows dimly even in this low light.

"I took a piece of this _Sheestraszah_ stone from a renowned family not long ago," he explains. "I thought it could help me find things out more easily. Unfortunately, the piece I took from the stubborn hag is too little, too weak."

My eyes widen as I connect the dots in my head – Zach's case about the murdered _Sheestraszah_ parents; the bloodstone found on the woman's body, but with a piece missing; the set-up to make the murders look like a hate crime…

"It was all you," I whisper hoarsely, but he doesn't seem to hear or care about my epiphany.

"Perhaps," he goes on, straining on top of me to reach for the scary-looking items on the table beside us, "this isn't quite enough – even implanting it into myself hasn't been much of a success in gathering its full powers."

I bear the rest of his weight on my stomach again as he returns to his former position, and he holds up, especially for my view, a syringe and small glass container full of a vile substance – black and dangerous, I know exactly what it is, and my heart feels like it's going to burst from my chest as I realise his intentions.

I swing my free arm up with an unintentional shriek, trying to swat away the filth he holds above me. I may have spent years as a pathetic whore, but even I had my standards back then, and they were far above getting into any of those hard, lethal, addictive, soul-draining drugs he waves in front of me now.

"Ah," he giggles, easily dodging my fist and rescuing his bottled threat. "I see you're familiar with this – Soup, I believe is what the kids on the street call it. A highly potent and addictive substance found on this planet, mixed with Earth's ever-feared heroin. Not that hard to find, if you get it cut with other useless but dangerous chemicals – but harder to obtain when in its purest form of just those two components. Perhaps worse than any cut drug sold for mere dollars on the street."

But his informative speech is lost on me as I writhe about beneath him desperately, as if I think there's any possible way to get out of this. Adrenaline and fear driving me on to try and snap the bounds on my wrist and ankles, to try and squirm out from beneath his overbearing weight.

"But I've been saving it for the right time," he goes on, as if my struggles are nothing to him. "And it seems that time has arrived. I figure you wouldn't cooperate with a skin-to-skin contact willingly, so apparently this is the only way I can truly get what I want out of you – with you remaining semi-conscious and _alive_," he adds as an afterthought.

He leans over me again, hissing, "I'm sorry to subject you to this, but if you'd only cooperate…"

And as he holds both implements in one hand, he grabs my free arm and lifts a leg, stomping a heavy boot heel down hard on my palm to secure it to the mat. I let out a yelp of pain, certain I've just heard a bone or two snap despite the inner foam of the mat.

And his apology sounds far from genuine, though his second one comes out more gently.

"And I'm sorry for this as well," he says, filling the needle before setting the glass container on the cart. He fumbles around for a moment, then produces a frightening sight which stops my squirming momentarily.

He's holding up a knife now in my view – not one of those standard issue flick-knives idiots seem to have given out to every chav, thug and hoodlum on the streets today – those silly things that remind me of flick combs and such, sold cheaply at places like that pervy pawnbroker runs. I've been held up, robbed, even knifed by those fuckers a few times in the past, and those things are nothing compared to this one.

Without the handle, the blade alone is long, at _least _eight inches, serrated on both edges, and wavy – more like a dagger than a mere _knife. _He uses this lethal weapon to easily rip the sleeve of my thin black shirt, all the way up to my shoulder, then hunches over my exposed arm.

"But I don't own an auto-syringe. Less fighting will minimize the pain, however…"

Despite the scary dagger still in one of his rough hands, I start up again, writhing and jerking to get away, but to no avail. My lack of cooperation doesn't stop him, though, and he stabs the needle into a protruding vein in my skinny arm. And it _does _hurt going in – hurts like hell, actually. Not the typical pinch, but more like a tear, and the blood instantly trickles down my elbow and starts dripping on the mat below me.

As soon as the drug enters my system, I gasp at the sensation. I've been told all about the effects of this filthy shit from actual junkies – both the pros and cons – and being acutely aware of it all, I know in the back of my head what's going on as it happens.

But in general, my body can't fight against the invasion, and as the drugs spreads, I feel my senses changing, my pain – physical and mental – starting to melt away. A warm, numbing sensation; a dulling, yet at the same time euphoric vibration overtaking my whole being. My struggle to keep my wits about me, to remember whom I'm with and why, it all starts to fade away. My eyes flutter wearily, my breathing and heartbeat slowing dramatically, and my head rolls about on the mat as indecipherable mumbles escape my once stinging, bloody lips.

Even as he starts unbuttoning my shirt, I don't care what he's up to. Not even with that dagger still clutched in his hand. But to my own surprise – and apparently his as well – I hear my moans forming slurred words from a slack mouth.

"Julian… What'd you do…to…Julian…"

With all of this going on, this is still – consciously, subconsciously, _and_ semi-consciously – my most pressing, urgent thought, my constant worry.

The _Tifsim_ must be annoyed by my endless persistence on the matter, because as he bends over me again, closer this time to deliberately press his chest against my own now bare one, the bloodgem scraping into my skin, he hisses into my ear, "_I killed him._"

And with that stark statement, I lose my breath; drug or no drug, pain or numbness, the tears well automatically and spill from my eyes as I moan in agony – not over what he's doing to me, not over being drugged or violated, or even what information he might find out by this bloody forceful, unnatural interrogation.

But the thought of his words being true, how harshly he informs me, how careless and thoughtless (as if he has the means to feel compassion for my suffering anyway), with that spit of hatred and spike of venom – the idea of Julian, of this monster killing him, right before my eyes, not being able to do a thing about it… Unexpected, it all happened so fast, and my bloody weakened powers hadn't been able to let me sense it beforehand…

I don't even care what "information" he gets from me now as he presses the gem in his chest against mine. His closeness feels miles away, as all I can think about – even with this goddamned drug fogging my mind – is the fact that Julian is dead.

So even when the guy pulls back from me with a slight smirk and notes, "Seems we have a bit in common – abominations, they call us, however different those aspects that make us so are," I can barely hear or comprehend him.

"I've never had a bi-gender before, though I've always been curious," he continues as I wallow in my drug-induced oblivion and anguish over Julian dying. I barely notice his shift in position, his untying my ankles, his tentative fingering of the waist to my tight-fitting trousers.

"It's been ages since I've had anyone," he whispers, and I don't register any of his meaning – even as he strips me of my trousers and maneuvers my legs to his liking. The warmth of his hand between my legs is a little disturbing, but by now I'm just crying – crying over Julian, moaning his name senselessly. And then it suddenly rips from my throat involuntarily, a scream for his help instead of a lament this time, as I feel the hard, stiff heat penetrating me like a knife. Not even the drugs can mask this kind of pain, and I'm trying to kick out at whatever force is invading me this time, but my legs are trapped by fierce arms, and the cutting edge of the serrated dagger blade presses threateningly against my throat, a prickling of broken skin freezing me up despite his sharp movements. But even as my stiffness keeps me where he wants me, my voice keeps echoing in my ears. Every thrust pulls another shocked cry or weak whimper from my sore throat, my head snapping back and free hand gripping the edge of the mat with all my strength. The grunts above me turn to half-stifled groans, and as I feel him intentionally pushing his cock in deeper, his howl is animalistic and frightening, as if every stab is an ongoing euphoric climax. All the while I can only cry for my dead non-lover and wish this sick bastard would do the same to me and get the whole bloody mess over with.

_Fuck me_, I think, even as he does just that. _Just fucking kill me already, will you?_

Seely

I knew when I left the agency that my promise to my brother was probably an empty one, but I persisted anyway, even if it was a false hope that I would make it in time.

But when I pull up to the front of Julian and Noel's apartment building, that hope is dashed – I know I'm too late, from the slumped figure on the porch to the obvious signs of a struggle: mainly the black streaks left over from Dark Arts attacks and the broken wooden slats.

I run up to the porch at the same time as I grope for my communicator, pressing the emergency call button fiercely all the while. Seconds later I'm hunched over Julian's limp form as my brother's voice crackles over the airwaves.

"What is it? What'd you find? Are they okay?"

I shake Julian by the arm firmly, repeating his name. No response. As I feel for a pulse in his neck – letting out a rush of breath when I find it – I tell Angel urgently, "Too late, bro – the fucker's got him. I think Ju's alive, but…"

And just when I'm about to demand an ambulance – or Sendhil – a groggy mumble interrupts me as Julian stirs and twitches to life.

"Ju!" I breathe with relief, helping him to sit up. He's sluggish at best, his longish curls stringy and shaggy in front of his eyes, just making him seem even more like a tramp than usual with that blank, bedraggled look about him. But after a few moments of blind confusion and wiping at his face, he freezes up, his head snapping around, and gives a start. He blurts out, "Noel?" His entire body jerks sporadically, searching from where he can barely move on the porch, and then looks at me with wide, panicked eyes – a feat for him, actually.

"Where's Noel? What happened?"

Ignoring my brother's incessant nagging on the other end to tell him what's going on, I nod to Ju. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

Julian's distant look and rapid eye blinking tell me more than his mouth can, and I sigh despondently into the communicator, "He's got Noel – knocked Ju out to get him out of the way, but since he's not dead I'm guessing we're right about his powers being weak. But he still managed to get Noel…"

Ju absorbs my words just as Angel does, and over my brother's next reaction or orders, the panicked hand grabbing my arm distracts me as Ju blurts out, "The _Tifsim?_ The _killer?_ He got… You mean he… He _took_ him?" His voice is strangely shrill and trembling now; I can practically _see_ the sweat on his face.

I stare down at his stricken expression, clueless as to what to say. There's no possible way for me to calm him down right now – and really, my own heart pounding fiercely in my chest, I can't blame him.

Thankfully, Angel interrupts my inability to comfort the nearly bleating man in front of me, repeating what he must have been saying before Julian bawled over his words: "Bring Julian back here – not only is it safer, but Sendhil and Chris can check him out, make sure he's okay."

I scoff loudly. "I doubt that, even if he's physically sound…"

"Just get back to the agency – we'll figure out what to do from there."

I acknowledge his order and cut out, but even as I struggle to get the other man to his feet, Julian is babbling senselessly and – inevitably – blaming himself for not being cautious enough, for being too weak, for being Human and useless…

There's nothing I can say or do to help him as he tortures himself while I lead him to the car – I just let him pour it all out, however fragmented and hopeless he sounds.

Hell… Even if neither of them have acknowledged it yet, it's clear to me that this guy's world is collapsing around him – just knowing Noel's in danger. Before it was just a possibility, a threat, a thought. Now that it's reality… I wonder how long it'll be until the guy snaps entirely.

All I can do now is hope we can fix this – if only to get these two back together so they can finally _admit _their need for each other.

No – not just need. Love.

And then something strikes me, just as we're about to leave. As Julian blubbers on about how useless he feels, how he can't even remember what happened, an idea emerges in my mind. I strap him into the passenger seat, then race back to the front porch. My actions seem to distract Julian slightly, and he watches me, puzzled, from the car as I kneel by the side of the porch where the broken slats and black smudges are. I grab a piece of the coarse material and pull at it – thanking my heritage for my strength – until a chunk of wood comes loose. I stuff the inanimate shred of wood into my pocket and then return to the car, throwing myself into the driver's seat and starting it up like a madman.

"What… What'd ya do that for?" Julian asks through his stuffy nose, his red-rimmed eyes peering at me curiously.

"Even if you can't remember what happened," I explain vaguely, patting my pocket, "I think someone else might be able to figure out with a little help from this baby."

He blinks at me cluelessly, but doesn't question me any further as I speed down the road back toward the agency; instead, he goes back to moaning about how pathetic he is for not being able to save Noel.

And I let him – but now, perhaps, with this piece of wood, we can gather a little more hope and insight than what we could from Julian's broken memory. Sometimes the strangest powers on this planet are true blessings.

Rich

When Chris is tucked safely away from the stone, after he's gotten himself into a thoroughly unreachable space in his thought processes, I let him sit alone for a while in my office and join Sendhil in the lab instead. The black cover Angel had used before to shield the danger from Chris's eyes has since been torn away, and the scientist is carefully scraping some tiny shavings from an edge of the stone – with a full face and head mask, protective leather gloves, even a full-body cover coat on. So me standing beside him in nothing but my shirt and jeans must seem a little daft.

"What're you doing?" I ask, nearly making the doctor jump.

He sighs and recovers himself, cautiously holding a sheet of metal beneath the viced stone to catch the shavings. "I'm taking samples to study the properties…"

"You know Chris said it has to be destroyed," I point out.

"Well," he mutters, "and behind the mask I can barely hear him, "_I_ need _something_ in order to figure out its true driving forces and what it could do – best to do this sort of thing _before_ the thing is destroyed, y'know…"

"We don't need to know its properties anymore," I cut in dully. "It's a bloodgem."

"Yes, but if studied, we can find out more about the so-called `magic' that goes on while _creating_ it. Not to mention maybe finding out more of what this Jarakhara dude was like. And if it's infused with Dark Arts Powers, maybe we can derive how he managed to get so much of it retained in a mere bloodgem…"

I fold my arms over my chest, heaving a sigh of obvious disapproval. Sendhil glares up at me irritably.

"What?" he snipes defensively. "A few little shavings aren't going to cause mass destruction."

I quirk an eyebrow at him, but only comment, "If Chris finds out about this, he won't be happy…"

"I'm a scientist," Sendhil mumbles, warily transferring the shavings into a glass bottle. "He knows that. He should expect this from me by now." And he finishes by hiding the stone again with the black cover, then gestures to me accusingly. "And you're not properly attired to be near such a threat right now, are you? What gives you the right to judge my actions?"

I shrug. "I was in here, like this, before – and so were you. We all were, actually. Whatever fate awaits me from that action is one we share, then, right? And so far there don't seem to have been any repercussions."

He pulls off his headgear and narrows his eyes at me. "Maybe. If we were all one _race_."

"Well, I was a bit too worried about Chris falling over to think about what could happen if I walked past a bloodgem, or through a Light barrier, at the time—"

"And you think _I'm_ irrational?" he scoffs. "For wanting to study something fascinating, when you just launch into something without thinking about the dangers…"

"Nobody else seemed to notice the stone's effect on _him_," I grind out sharply. "And we _all _broke the Light barrier when we came into the lab, so I'm not the only one who acts on impulse. But our impulses were obviously different – _big brother_. I just felt a bit more concerned about the _person_ who was _holding_ the stone, rather than the stone itself at the time—"

"Chris can stay on his own two feet," Sendhil huffs as he starts disrobing the protective gear. "If anything, he's insisted on me understanding that much about him. So I wasn't concerned about that."

I step closer, towering over him, and hiss, "Sure as hell seemed a lot different to me, since I was the one holding him up _on_ his own two feet. I'd think someone so close to him would _sense_ when these things are too much for him – even despite his own claims."

Sendhil pauses, glancing up at me with first an unspoken challenge, as if insulted at my blatant insinuation of his lack of caring for someone he claims to think of as family. But then his expression changes to one of confusion, and finally, concern. "Was he really that bad?"

I blink at him, answering only, "He voluntarily took my hand."

Sendhil's head jerks back a bit, obviously startled. "Oh… Wow… I guess I thought…" He appeals to me again, more forecefully now, "He was really that shaken?"

"He's only twenty-four, Sen," I remind him flatly. "He may be a Master of both Arts, but he's still young and is very sensitive underneath the _Nispar_ heritage. He's a very strong young man, in many capacities, but even _he_ has his weak points. And this stone is obviously one of them. So yes, he really _was_ that shaken, and you should have respected his reaction a bit more – considering you _saw_ his reaction, not to mention he bluntly _said_ that it's evil and has to be destroyed. He's still just a kid, Sendhil. He may have seen and done some pretty heavy shit in his time – but don't you think all of that may have affected him in ways he wouldn't share with someone? Not even you, his _`brother'_? He's a _Nispar_, for Chrissake, of course he's not gonna go volunteering or advertising what puts him off."

Sendhil's oblivious face hardens slightly and he finally uses the challenge in front of him: "Are you suggesting I'm not a fit guardian for him? That I haven't done a good job raising him?"

"I'm saying," I interject before he can get too flustered, "that he's not just a lost twelve year old boy anymore, but he wouldn't _show_ his true feelings about his experiences with just anyone – and you obviously haven't pressed him on it."

"I _have!_" Sendhil insists. "I've tried to get him to talk, but he doesn't… I guess…" He heaves a sigh of defeat and confesses reluctantly, "I don't think he trusts me enough."

"He said he has a connection to you like he has with no one else."

He shrugs, glancing up at me furtively. "Maybe… it's still not enough." He looks me over suspiciously, then mumbles quietly, "And if he actually _let_ you help him stand and touched you of his own volition… I dunno, maybe there's more of a connection between _you_ two than there is with… well, him and me."

I blink again, taken aback by Sendhil's own admission of this possibility. A small spark inside of me ignites at the prospect of someone else gaining an awareness of it, but I try not to dwell on the hope too much.

"Maybe it'll just take a little time," I offer lamely, not even sure if I mean with Chris and Sendhil, or Chris and myself. "But yes, in answer to your question – he was extremely shaken." I gesture to my office door. "He's in there right now trying to figure out a way to replicate the stone to use _before_ we have to destroy it. Never mind _how_ we're supposed to destroy it. He'll probably have to spend a week trying to figure that out too. But he's doing this, all while knowing Noel's in danger, and after having to hold _that_ piece of evil—" stabbing a finger at the covered bloodgem, "—and seeing and feeling all it had to offer. The kid's a wreck, Sendhil, and you're out here shaving off bits of the very thing he's terrified of, the thing that _put_ him in that state. To save for later. You weren't even planning on telling him, were you?"

Sendhil swallows thickly, staring off into space with a guilty expression. "I guess I… figured he didn't need to know… But my own curiosity… It just won't let me let this go so easily. I don't know if you'd understand, Rich, but… I've been wanting to know more about this for _ages_ now, ever since we heard of it. And even if the whole thing has to be destroyed eventually, I really want to get as much information as I possibly can about it before… before…"

"Before you get rid of the danger yourself?"

He hesitates, glancing back at the contained shavings. "Chris knows; he knows sometimes my scientific urges need to be sated in order for _me_ to feel comfortable. And if I just keep it away from him, preferably even out of his knowledge, maybe he… won't have to feel threatened at all."

I roll my eyes, dropping my arms to my sides, and warn him, "Fine, _doctor_; do what you need to for your work. For your own _needs_. But don't forget: your `_little brother'_ is, as you keep mentioning yourself to others, a bit more sensitive than people expect."

He sighs wearily, wiping his forehead, and nods. But just as he's about to say something in return, there's a loud bustling from the staircase to the basement, cutting off our discussion – "argument" – and we both rush out to find the source of the commotion.

The source, it turns out, is a very disheveled – and blubbering, emotionally messy – Julian, being aided down the stairs by Zach and Seely, the latter's grave face confirming our suspicions.

After Seely lets go and allows Zach to help the crumbling Julian to a cot, advising Sendhil to check him out "all over" (meaning physically and metaphysically, if possible), he turns to me and hands me a piece of broken wood. I stare down at it dumbly.

"Er…"

"Where's Chris?" he demands as he rushes to the phone – no doubt to alert his brother of their return.

"Um… In my office. Resting – and planning at the same time – why exactly am I holding a piece of wood?"

"Get Chris to get off it what happened at the apartment building," he orders, dialing Angel's extension.

I squint at him. "Um – Chris is already drained, and he's in the middle of figuring out—"

"Just do it!" Seely snaps, waving at my hands. "He's a Master, he shouldn't get wiped out so easily. He can read inanimate objects to see events that happened to or around them, he'll be able to see exactly what happened to Julian and Noel – maybe even see where this prick might've started heading with him. Julian's useless – can't remember a thing, probably had some spell or attack put on him first to get him outta the wa—Angel?" he cuts himself off, speaking into the receiver. "Yeah, me and Ju are back. You'd better get down here, we gotta figure something out fast. I'm getting Chris to interpret some materials now," he goes on to our boss as he swipes a hand at me to get going – despite my protests.

And as Julian bawls behind me about how he was of no use, how he virtually _gave_ his best friend to the enemy, and Seely explains what he saw to his brother, against my better judgment, I obey the orders from the agitated _Utral_.

But as soon as I open the door to my office, Chris is just about to do the same, so I nearly end up knocking him out. Luckily he dodges the oncoming door and catches my arm, his eyes wide (not unusual) with a spark of hope in them (unusual).

"I think I have an idea – but I need some help…"

Before he can go on, he notices the wood in my hand.

"Um… What's that?"

I reluctantly explain to him what Seely told me, and without a single protest, he nods and grabs the material from my fingers, closing his eyes in concentration. Apparently this _Nispar_ ability is far less taxing than any Light or Dark Arts powers he has in him. His eyelids flicker minutely for a few quietly moments, then open suddenly as he hands it back to me.

"Got it. I'll tell Angel and the others what happened, might get a better idea of what's going on now, and how to move forward."

And as he drags me along with him to reconvene with the others in the med room, I sputter, "But – what – you – said you have – your idea – you still look tired –"

Alas, my own priorities are getting mixed up, so my concerns have to be pushed aside as the team who has worked together for years assembles to continue their highly underrated and unacknowledged brand of "magic."


	9. Chapter 9

11

Angel's Vigilante… "Agency": The Stone of Jarakhara

Chapter Nine

Rich

I feel like an unsuspecting babysitter as the proverbial toddler (Chris) takes me by the arm and leads me quite fervently into my own office, directing me in his monotone mumble to sit on the couch and stay put. He disappears into the lab again, and after some scuffling and clanging about, returns holding a small box; a long tube; another larger square item I can't identify; and, in a re-gloved hand, the very bloodgem he seemed so terrified of before.

I sit up stiffly as he props himself beside me, eying up the uncovered gem warily.

"I thought you… you know… were afraid of that thing," I remark.

"Of course I am," he answers grimly. "We all should be. But I can't very well make a replica of it properly without using the actual thing, now, can I?"

I have no response to this, and anyway, he's distracted me instead by shoving the smaller box and long tube into my hands.

As he settles himself properly on the couch – knees to his chest as usual, bare heels digging into the cushions – he lets out a long sigh, as if bracing himself, and utters soberly, "I hope to gods this works."

He places the larger box on top of his knees, and when he lifts the lid I peek inside to see an almost gelatinous substance filling the bottom half. He tips the full half into the empty one, all the while clutching the bloodgem tightly in his protected hand, until both sides of the box are equal in content.

He places the "stone of pure evil" into one of the halves, and, taking a deep breath, quickly slams the two sides together again to form a nearly perfectly sealed box. The he closes his eyes, both hands covering the lid, and murmurs quietly – a Utarian spell, though I can't tell if it's considered Light or Dark Magic. He continues this for a few moments, and I can see the molding box glow a deep blue for an instant before he stops, opening his eyes again and glancing at me furtively with a small, strained smile.

"Let's see how we've done."

Though the "we" in that suggestion is hardly appropriate.

I watch, intrigued, when he – as steadfast and concentrated as Sendhil during one of his experiments – slowly lifts the lid of the box to reveal a solidified molding of half of the gem still inside, once liquid now hardened into what looks like a perfect hollow shape of the bloodgem.

Chris lets out a breath, either of relief or disappointment – I can't tell. He cautiously lifts the true bloodgem from the case, and the other also hardened side seems to have successfully captured the shape of it. Then, with measured accuracy, he uses one finger to "melt" two half circles into each opposing end of the box, long enough to reach the inside of the hollow shape.

"That's part one down," he says with a hint of satisfaction – but not too smugly. He grips the real stone in his gloved hand and closes the molding case with the other, handing me the safer item without a word. He leaps off the couch and bustles back to the lab – presumably to rid himself of the object which he so loathes.

When he returns once again, he looks directly at me as he closes the door.

"The mold is finished. Now comes the hard part. Well, hard for _me_, at least. Which is why I'm hoping you won't be too put out if you could possibly… stay with me during the process."

Glancing over the items in my arms, I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, as I can just imagine – just now realizing with concern – what it is he plans to do.

As he crosses the room to fill the space beside me again, he averts his eyes and speaks in his soft, though now slightly trembling voice.

"To replicate a bloodgem, any substance which can be magically solidified by a proper molding can be used. But," he adds emphatically, drawing his lips back over his teeth in an expression of dread, "to replicate one which needs to be as close to the original as possible – in order to fool another into believing it's a _true_ bloodgem and not just some gold- or silver-shaped piece for cheap jewelry – a _real_ blood source is needed. One which can retain Energy Arts Magic. It will be even more convincing if the blood of a Dark Arts Master is used, as it can be infused with a similar energy – not as strong as the true gem, but enough to, say, buy some extra time."

He pauses, swallowing hard, and glances over at me sheepishly. I know his plan now, and while the thought of it is more than a little off-putting, I also know he's telling the truth. And I can't seem to find the appropriate sentiment to convey a logical balance: would it be too much to forbid it, or would I seem to care too little if I keep quiet? I still haven't figured out why exactly I feel this close to him already, and vice versa, but seeing that hope and trust in his eyes, as well as sensing the reluctant urgency in his needing to do this, I nod slowly.

"I'll stay with you."

"Thank you," he murmurs, taking one end of the tube from my hands and securing it neatly inside the closed case. Gesturing to the last item I hold, he draws my attention to the kit in my lap. I take in a deep breath and open the box to find a rather large, thick needle and rubber strip inside, along with the appropriate tape and clamps.

As his shirt only has one sleeve on it to begin with, and he's thin as a rake, it's quite easy to wrap the band around his slight upper arm and find an adequate vein to use as he fists his gloved hand. With the needle's back already connected to the open end of the tube, all that needs to be done is to insert the sharp, frightening end of the needle into the visibly protruding vein.

But I hesitate. Sticking people with needles has never been my specialty, though I have done on several occasions. But this time – that bloody _concern_ filling me up again – I almost can't bear to do it. I know it will hurt, especially for a needle of that size, and I worry over blowing the vein… or hurting him at all.

But Chris is insistent. He even reaches over with his bare hand to touch my wrist, assuring me silently, with his eyes and a nod, that this is necessary. And somehow, he trusts me enough to let me do this. So I sigh again and, with as much delicacy as I can muster, force the sharp edge into his skin.

Chris winces visibly, a hiss of breath being sucked in through clenched teeth, but he doesn't dwell on the pain at all as he gropes for the tape. I help him secure the needle against his arm, and as he tries to sit back and relax, I watch the steady stream of his glistening silver blood fill the tube, pouring beyond our eyes into the hollowed shape of the bloodgem inside the sealed case.

After several minutes of this, I have to tear my eyes away from the sight, studying his face instead. It's a bit pinched and pale, though he never struck me as one who likes tanning anyway. But I can see it, sense it, the energy slowly being drained from him, the color of his skin turning almost chalky now. If he starts going gray on me, I'll _really_ be worried…

At one point I try to persuade him to stop, but he hushes me calmly and insists, "It's a long process, which was why I wanted to start on it as soon as possible." Despite his determination, his words are coming out slightly slurred now, and I begin to distort the image of the original bloodgem in my mind as a massive heap of destruction – and wonder how long this is going to take, to fill up that once empty mold.

But I keep my word and remain by his side, watching his slowly drooping eyelids with my own heightening heart rate.

"It's nothing," he goes on, sounding too lazy to be considered "okay" now, "compared to what Noel must be going through this very moment." He cringes, but I know this time it's not over his own blood loss – it's the thought of Noel being in danger that's bothering him.

"If giving up some blood and energy will help save him," he rasps, "then I'm willing to do it."

I can only nod again. But then I dare to risk a less subtle maneuver, and slip an arm around his small shoulders. To my surprise, he doesn't lurch away, or even stiffen uncomfortably. This could be related to his blood loss and resulting weakness, but it's a rather nice feeling anyway as he slumps into my half-embrace and lets his head rest on my chest.

I gently squeeze his shoulder and whisper, "You're a good person, Kar'ra."

I can sense his lopsided smile over my use of his true name, and he slurs sleepily, "You are, too… Rich…"

There's a long silence in the room, but just when I begin to feel antsy enough to reach for his neck, just to confirm he still has a pulse, and fret again over how long this is taking and how much energy it's taking from him to fill that stupid molding, Chris suddenly blurts out something completely ridiculous:

"Oi, mate – when yer mum gave birth to ya, did anyone make the comment, `That's rich, comin' from you'?"

I pause, quirking an eyebrow, then glance down to see his eyes closed and a goofy smile on his face.

"Okay," I decide, taking control of the situation now and hauling him back into a straighter position. If he's gotten to this point of uncharacteristic behavior, there's definitely something wrong. "If that thing's not full yet, we'll just have to add something else to replace it – you've given more than enough—"

"No—" he protests weakly, slapping at my hands as I try to pull the tape off his arm. "Jus' one more minute—"

"Dude, if we were in a bar right now, I'd be flagging you."

He's obviously more out of it than he realizes, because his giggly response is, "I may just enjoy a flogging from _you_…"

I turn my head to him and glare at the glazed, rarely half-lidded eyes. The suggestion itself – and his uncanny suggestiveness about _liking_ it – is a bit…

I push aside my clearly confused libido and concentrate on the situation at hand.

"I said _`flagging_,'" I correct. "As in, you've had to much – only in this case, you've _given_ too much…"

But my paranoia ebbs as he calmly pushes my hands away, shushing me like he's my mother or something, and leans over to peer carefully at the tube end connected to the molding case. He smiles again wanly as he sits back, and looks over at me.

"See? Done already." And this time he allows me to – again, as gently as possible – peel off the tape and retract the needle from his vein. As he holds gauze to the still bloody hole in his arm, I untie the rubber strip from his arm and reach to pull the (still blood-filled) tube from the case, but he stops me.

"Not yet," he instructs, still slurring a bit but sounding more controlled. "I have to solidify the blood first to make sure nothing seeps out—"

"Another spell?!" I nearly shout. "In your condition?!"

His bleary eyes finally focus on me and he nods. "And after _that_, I have to infuse it with as much Dark Energy that I can—"

I scoff, raking my fingers through my hair – unaware by now just how unreasonable my reactions could be construed… if anyone else saw me and wasn't aware of this unspoken "bond" between us. But something in the back of my mind must notice, because I'm vaguely thankful the door is closed.

"I'm all right," he assures me, leaning against my shoulder with the ease of one who would seem like he's been this close to me for years. "Don't worry so much – just as Humans' blood replenishes itself over time, so does ours – and with some slight forced power surges, it can do so faster. I can recover more quickly than you think, is what I mean – especially in an emergency."

I'm nearly pouting by now, as if being deprived of my own right to argue.

All too soon, he pulls back from me, and with noticeable rejuvenated motor skills, he places his hands over the lid and closes his eyes, repeating a similar spell under his breath. This time the box glows silver for a few seconds, and when his dark eyes and the box open simultaneously, a perfectly rendered shape of the real bloodgem reveals itself. Despite all my fears and worries from before, I can't help but gaze at it in awe.

"And that," he says, in a rather chipper tone, "is one way to make a bloodgem." He glances over at me with a sly smirk. "Now you know why it's usually done in a desperate attempt, at the end of one's life, to ensure a piece of that dying person remains behind."

I scoff again, pointing out, "Don't they do that anyway, with their spirit Bubbles?"

"Yes," he answers as he removes the tube from the box, slides the new bloodgem into his bare hand, and runs his finger over the last flaw: melting off the inch-long stub of solidified blood which had been protruding from where the tube had been inserted. "But bloodgems are more powerful – they can be passed on to others, for better or worse, and used to the new owner's liking – if they're able to wield its power. Basically a relative, descendent, offspring, that sort of thing. And bloodgems usually aren't infused with Dark or Light Arts Energy. But they can also be used for decoration…"

He smiles lightly at me and places the small, rounded cast-off of his own gem into my hand.

"Here. You can make a necklace or something," he says passively, and I stare down at the gleaming, delicate – but powerful – item with a sense of… well… confirmation? It's actually rather beautiful, despite knowing why and how he made it. Or perhaps it's _because_ I know this that I accept the small "token" with such reverence.

Chris hardly acts like his bequeathing me an actual, physical piece of himself as a sign of our connection, though. Instead, without another word, he clenches the new gem – his own fully formed bloodgem, as he still lives and breathes – in his bare hand and lowers his head in concentration. Quite similarly to what I felt, sensed, _saw_ in the lab when he was "reading" the _Tifsim_'s gem, I sense now that tangle of ethereal struggle, the darker, more chilling and dangerous waves dominating the atmosphere in the room. Thankful that I can control my own ability, I shut out the sensations, keep myself from entering that abstract world of enigmatic power, and merely watch superficially as a strangely dark glow emanates from Chris's closed hand. His breathing coming in long, slow draws, exhaled with just as much measure, he is obviously already in the middle of a trance, infusing this new stone with as much "evil" or "darkness" as he can muster.

Though it's difficult, especially as I hold the sparkling silver sliver in my fingers, to imagine it as "evil" when associated with him. Truthfully, Light Arts can potentially be used for doing "wrong," and Dark Arts can be used for "good." Depending on the situation, person, and intention.

But I have to wonder, after all this effort, how useful any of it will actually be. This _Tifsim_ Gedgeon, and his ancestor Jarakhara, are and were both inherently… well, _evil_. Whether recorded history tells of it or not, as Chris had said that Jarakhara's crimes were never documented, it's clear that all that is or was on either of these two's minds was blood and carnage. I vaguely wonder if any of their offspring had actually been produced from any kind of consensual interaction…

But what bothers me the most is the thought that Chris's own Dark Energy might not truly be enough to fool Gedgeon – even for the hopefully short time needed to rescue Noel. I truly don't know if it will be enough, and I know Chris worries about the same thing. He said before we started this procedure that he wasn't sure. But he's desperate enough to try. Sacrificing himself, in a sense, to save his friend, even if it's only a possibility, a slim chance.

That amount of kindness, of caring – I wonder now how he ever fooled _anyone_ into believing him to be anything _but_ good.

Dismissing his random acts of lying, of course.

Angel

Despite my earlier hesitance to check in with Simon, my fingers still itch to hit "redial" on my cell as we sit and wait for further information. Of course we're also discussing possible details of what we could do once faced with our target (and "bait"), but my mind is split between that and wanting to hit that button – despite knowing Simon's imminent irritation if I call him at an inconvenient moment. If it's Simon, I have to wait for _his_ call – otherwise he'll have nothing to report, and I could be risking giving his presence away to anyone else in the vicinity if his cell phone goes off in utter silence.

Usually I would be the one pacing, but Julian's taken over this duty, and in a much more purposeful manner than I ever did. Of course, mine is usually brought on by plans and thinking; his is purely a frantic way to cope with his dread, hands raking repeatedly through his hair. As we speak of our potential plans, we are all mute about, but aware of, the fact that we should not voice speculations about what could be happening to our colleague at this moment; gods know Ju's already contemplating this enough on his own; no need to push the guy any further.

But even I can't keep the ideas from springing to mind, which makes the long minutes that tick by even more unbearable. I restrain myself from hitting "redial" for the twentieth time, and look around at my team with a covert sense of unease.

As Sendhil attempts to catch Ju every now and then in his pacing to check and make sure he's recovering from the negative blast of Dark energy he sustained, Seely and Zach sit on the edge of the currently unused cot in the med room, Zach biting his nails and Seely watching me while chewing his lips raw. We've already decided, wherever the crazy man has taken Noel, Seely and Sendhil are essential to be in the group to go after them, as Seely's sniper skills will be needed and Sendhil's healing powers will…

Well, we don't say it aloud for Ju's sake, but we're certain Sendhil's abilities will be vital.

Other than those two, I've elected myself to go as well – this situation has entered my realm of distrust and desperation now, so I'm completely unmovable on the idea that I'm taking matters into my own hands.

The bastard took one of our own; that foolish act warrants my own personal brand of punishment.

As Chris and Rich are busy in Rich and Noel's office preparing the decoy gem, I decide for them that neither is needed on this mission – Chris will be far too taxed by his participation already, and there's really nothing Rich can do to deal with this sort of madman. Same goes for Zach, whose nail-biting is nearly as frenzied as Julian's pacing, even if he doesn't realize he's bitten all but two to the quick by now.

And Julian – well, there's no way in hell I'm letting him near this scene with his mania and in his condition. Never mind the physical shock he received earlier – being that close to a very likely injured Noel will simply do the guy in, and I can't possibly risk losing another employee…

I mentally slap myself. There's no concrete evidence that Noel's out of the game yet. And the fact that I even took it as a given just makes me want to hit myself literally – but then all my subordinates, even my own brother, might take it as a sign of my own weakness and usurp my orders.

I have to pause and wonder _why_ I'm so angry with myself right now. Simon took a pounding from the guy just this morning, yet I'm still approving his solo investigation as we sit and wait. The other three thugs haven't shown their faces yet either, so who knows if Gedgeon has tried tracking down anyone else to use against us? But I don't bother trying to call them. Julian was hit by some heavy Dark magic, which may also be a reason for his current state, apart from his mourning and fear over Noel's well-being. But I simply let him pace up and down the room without a word. Chris is in that office doing his surreptitious business to make part of this ploy work, but I'm hardly concerned that he'll overdo it on using his powers. I don't even know _how_ he's doing it, but I'm not checking in to find out.

Some of it may be a trust issue – knowing somehow that these individuals will cope with their setbacks. But when it comes to Noel…

Oh, the boy's got abilities, even useful defensive ones. He's not a pushover. He survived on the streets alone longer than he's been with this agency.

But I can't explain away this particularly strong sense of hatred, this lust for revenge, even if we find Noel safe and unscathed. The very fact that it _is_ Noel, that he had to pick on _him_…

Well, I'm not at the point Julian is, stalking around like a raving lunatic, but I don't question his reasons for it. I completely understand. But maybe not to the exact same degree. It feels like someone's targeting my family – but Julian's bond with him goes far beyond that. And it's obviously tearing him apart inside, as I myself feel close to murder, just at _this_ level of anger.

No one's ever been able to pinpoint how or why Noel overtook any of our concerns so fiercely; but it's clear that the freaky spaz most people merely think is weird beyond the typical nutjob from this area has wormed his way into our minds and hearts in such a fierce fashion as to render us all nearly mad over the thought of losing him. He's sneaked into us, changed our perceptions, in ways he couldn't even guess. Changed our very _lives_, even in the tiniest of ways. It strikes me as fascinating, amazing, that one little absurd Utar can affect so many others simply by _being_ there. If he wasn't here… If anything happens to him… If anything irrevocable happens to him…

I have to stop myself from treading that line of thinking, for fear of exposing my true feelings to everyone else. Though I'm sure my red face, white knuckles and glaring, penetrating stare at nothing in particular are dead giveaways.

The atmosphere in the room is so tense, in fact, that when the alarm of the building goes off, which I'd secured after Seely's return with Julian, all of us jerk or twitch in some way – and I literally jump to my feet, causing my finger to accidentally hit the "redial" button anyway by mistake. Luckily, I cut it off before a connection is even made, but by the time I've done that, the alarm has already stopped, and we all stare at the door to the lab in anticipation. Wondering who, or what, has gotten inside – and was able to shut off the alarm on its own.

Just as I'm about to turn to my brother to signal we go check it out, there's a clamor of footsteps behind the door on the staircase, and I'm almost certain what we're going to find – or be bombarded with, considering the circumstances, and their utter lack of grace or thought – so I start to relax a little. Still, best to stay on our guard, so I motion to everyone else to stay back as I act as a barricade to whoever has trespassed onto our property.

Sure enough, when the door swings open easily, it reveals a very disgruntled white-haired asshole glaring back at me. We all let out a collective breath of relief – though it's the first time I've ever actually felt _relieved_ to see Spike, to be blunt.

"What the fuck, _boss?_" he spits at me angrily. "You nag us all to congregate in the safest place together - `safety in numbers,' I recall verbatim – and then you set the _alarm?_ Lucky James has a key and the alarm code, otherwise we would've had to break that glass. So were you counting on us hanging around out there for some maniac to find and slaughter us? Not that he would've been able to, of course, but you were hoping, weren't you?"

As the freak babbles on in that irate tone he always uses with me, the other two bustle out from behind him, Russell announcing his presence as if his just making it down the steps without falling is a triumph, and James catching my eye with a vague apology _and_ "you're welcome" in his gaze. He knows the startling barrage is a nuisance, but at least he's also aware of my genuine concern to keep the necessary people safe. However loud and obnoxious they can be. It was obviously by his persuasion that Spike finally relented, and Russell – well, he'll just follow along, though I'm sure part of his reason this time is to be closer to information about whatever is happening concerning Noel.

So I nod gratefully at James' glance and turn my back on the still fuming idiot. Russell, meanwhile, holds up his arms and smiles widely at the rest of the stunned faces peering at him.

"Rejoice, oh paranoid panicked souls! I have arrived to alleviate any concerns you may have! No more fear shall penetrate this fortress, for I shall thwart the evil with my mighty powers of—"

"Semen?" Sendhil suggests with a chuckle.

Russell drops his arms, but not his smile, and assures him, "If it shall come to that, I will be more than happy to oblige." He seems to finally notice the other Human in the room, as Julian is now huddled in a corner, arms over his chest protectively, still twitching.

The Gypsy's smile fades and in its stead grows a severe, glum expression as he advances on Julian. I have a sudden fear in my gut that Russell will take things too far and outright accuse the other shaken man for "letting" the monster capture our friend.

Instead, all Russell does is stop right in front of Ju, staring at him steadily. Then he reaches up a hand and places it carefully but firmly on a trembling shoulder.

"Not holdin' up well, are we?" he says, his tone strangely sympathetic.

Ju blinks sporadically at him, gulping with dread – not dread of Russell, but of whatever he's thinking about Noel right now.

Russell squeezes his shoulder in an assuring fashion, surprising me by being far more supportive than angry with Julian.

"We'll get 'im back," he hisses to Ju aggressively. "Don't you worry, mate – he'll be back here in no time. With all of us against this one crazy bastard, there's no way we'll let Noel go so easily."

His eyes finally settling on Russell's stoic, determined gaze, Ju calms down enough to give a hesitant nod, which Russell returns with more vigor than Ju's.

Of course, I realize: even Russell can't find it in himself to blame Ju for any of this; truth be told, and Russell knows it, if it had been the Gypsy with Noel at the time instead, the same result would have occurred. He is, after all, just a Human himself. And knowing Ju's been inflicted with a Dark Arts spell, Russell has to also know that the other guy hasn't had the best time these last few hours. Yes, even Russell is sensitive enough to know how torturous it is for Ju to feel so helpless, blaming himself, and being ravaged by an anger toward this vicious prick he probably never thought he'd be able to experience before.

Russell may not have been there, but his adamant certainty that we _will_ save Noel is as strong as the rest of ours – in fact, his attitude seems to strengthen our own previously shriveling wills. Maybe getting to the point where it's as strong as Julian's need to believe it.

Unfortunately, I'll have to break all their spirits when I tell them my plan – which doesn't include the three late-comers, or many of the others. I'm sure James will accept it as an order to stay put and watch over the rest of our gang; Spike will have a fit over not being allowed a chance to throttle the bastard (though it could be anyone to throttle, really – just being deprived of a physical battle makes him pissy); but seeing the rare steadfast glare in Russell's eyes as he turns back to me, I'm now certain he'll put up more of a fight to join the melee. Now that it's about Noel – now that it's become personal.

But I hadn't counted on them being there at all, so of course my plan wouldn't include them. And I stubbornly refuse to change my mind, even as I clear my throat to get everyone's attention and tell them exactly what I've come up with.

Expectedly, the rebuttals and protests come sailing in just as I knew they would, but eventually I bring out my harsh, unrelenting role, and they reluctantly agree to adhere to my commands.

Except, to my shock, one person. He crawls silently out of his corner, having taken in all of this argument without a word, and comes straight up to me. Without the usual flinching, and without the usual shred of hesitancy, Julian tells me in a low, stern voice, "I'm coming with you."

Obviously, for all those previously mentioned reasons I wouldn't want him near this mission, my initial reaction is to refuse, pointing out blatantly the very plain fact that he's only a Human and would only be a liability – but he clamps a fierce hand on my arm. Unblinking, his expression hard and emotionless, he states again, "I'm coming with you."

And though his face shows no fear or anger, the intensity from his eyes is so strong that I realize – despite being told twice by his leader, whom he would never oppose otherwise – he's not asking my permission or pleading with me. He's not giving reasons or explaining his side of it. He's not giving me a _choice_. He's merely telling me fact.

For such a lack of an argument, his argument is quite compelling.

"Okay," I sigh, as if my saying no would have stopped him. "Just stay in control – and _out_ of the way."

He releases my arm with a sturdy nod, and I notice that his random twitching has finally subsided.

Of course with that one change, the other usual suspects start whining again – why does _he_ get to go and not _them?_ – but I silence them once more with a sharp shout: "_Enough!_ That's how it is, and that's how it will stay. That's my final word on the matter."

And, despite the grumbles and curses under heated breaths, no one tries to defy me again.

Of course, at this time, I should know by now that nothing ever goes as I plan it. That's what I get for hiring and depending on sneaky rogues, unconventional hotheads, and fiercely independent misfits with their own ideas and agendas.

You know. People with highly functional brains – who know how to _use_ them.

Noel

I hate being on this drug. My senses are all foggy and mixed up. Things that are minuscule feel more intense than they should, and things I should wail over come out numb. I can't stop repeating my most shameful memories in my head, my teenage years running through it over and over.

I don't know how or why people would want to try this shit and get addicted to it, yet my train of thought becomes so derailed and broken, I guess that must be its draw. So I've no idea how many times he's given it to me, but I know it's not just the once. I can't keep track of time, don't know if it's been hours or days since he started this torture. Don't think I've said anything of importance, but I can't be sure. If anything, it must come out as gibberish, or maybe he knows whatever he wants to know from that stone in his chest, because I can't recall him asking me anything else. Just grunts or makes random comments or threats or taunts I can't comprehend in my state.

I can tell he's a bit pleased with himself, but that's about all. I don't know how many times he takes advantage of me, but it's more than once. That's the only time I'm glad to be drugged up, because I can't feel nothin' anymore. But then that depresses me inside, because I don't like not feeling anything. Physical or emotional.

All I can cling to is the idea of Ju, and my friends at the agency, and try to convince myself that they know and are looking for me. But his claim to have killed Ju – that's the only thing that gets me crying now. Sends my heart racing and my breath goes all ragged and strangled. And it's in these moments that I wish the drug would just do me in, but it doesn't. He never gives me enough or does enough to me to knock me out, so the sedative quality of the drug doesn't help me sleep, and my adrenaline keeps me awake. So I can't even make myself black out. I try to hold my breath a few times, deprive myself of oxygen, but I can't go through with it. Either my body kicks in and takes over or I forget what I'm trying to do.

And he's no help either, flitting in and out at intervals, like he's checking around the place in paranoia, or waiting for something. One time he disappears for a while, and it occurs to me that I could just reach up and untie my bound wrist with my free hand, but my arm feels like lead, and before I can maneuver it where I want, I forget again, and then he's back, saying something about sensing someone's presence. But he can't find anyone outside. Says he heard something, knew a smell or an aura or something like that, muttering to himself as he becomes agitated. He paces back and forth, uttering that he's tired of waiting, that he feels like a rat being lured out, but _he's_ the one who's supposed to be doing the luring. He's half angry and half giddy, wondering if "they" – presumably my friends, or whoever has the stone – will show up soon.

But really, I couldn't care less at this point. I'm just too tired but unable to sleep, and all I can do is close my eyes and wait.

Angel

When my cell finally rings, I hit "answer" before the first chime finishes, even if the person on the other end hasn't been identified yet. But I take a chance and blurt out, "Simon? That you?"

"Aye," comes the familiar reply, and I heave a sigh of relief – before bracing myself for any important (or bad) news.

"What did you—"

"Look, no time to chat, mate," he rolls on in his choppy accent, sounding winded. "I'm on my way back, tracked him down 'n don't think we should waste any time – damn bastard nearly caught me scent, bloody lucky I got out when I did, I'd be down there with Noel meself, I reckon – just get your group 'n I'll meet you at the front—"

But I'm still trying to muddle through his sentences to come up with some picture of what's going on. "Where is he?" I cut into his rant. "Noel's there? He's with him? Did you see him? Is he safe? What's he doing—"

"I'm almost there now, Angel, so get your guys together and meet me outside! I'll explain the rest on the way."

And before I can ask anything else, he hangs up on me. I stare down at the phone for a moment, blinking as if I'm stunned – as if no one's ever hung up on me before. (Which isn't true, of course. In fact, it usually _is_ Simon.)

But then I snap into action, stuffing my phone in my pocket and motioning to my brother and Sendhil to head upstairs. Julian obviously takes notice of this and follows accordingly as I saunter back to Rich's office. Luckily no one's asked questions yet, though I've caught the glances from the others, a tension stronger than before permeating the room – anticipation, because they see the action is starting. Hell yes, I'm lucky no one asks me anything – because I have no answers to give them, thanks to Simon's abrupt conversation.

I burst into the office to find Rich worrying over Chris, who is still in trance, but slumped over his knees a bit, forcing his energy into the fake stone.

I halt in front of them and hold out my hand.

"We're going," I announce. "Simon just called and is almost here. He knows where Gedgeon is and can take us there. I need the stone now."

Chris drags a weary stare up to me and rasps, sweat sliding down his pale face, "It's not… ready…"

"It's fine," I assure him, noticing the relief in Rich's expression when I step in to cut off the proceedings – it's probably a good thing I came when I did anyway; the tiny _Nispar_ looks about ready to keel over himself. Obviously Rich is concerned about Chris's state as well, so stopping him before he does himself in will ease the Human's mind.

"It's… not…" Chris insists weakly, still gripping the stone stubbornly.

Rich tries to reason with him, but Chris shakes him off; Rich backs away easily, but not because of Chris's strength – in fact, the exact opposite. He clearly doesn't want to hurt the already drained Utar, and isn't sure how to go about handling the situation… let alone the frail body beside him.

So I take matters into my own hands – literally. Without that humane concern for Chris's safety or his physical state, not even considering his hesitancy towards physical contact at all, I reach down and try to make a grab for the stone. But Chris lurches back, gasping, "No! It isn't enough—"

"There's not enough _time!_" I retort loudly, now blatantly wrestling with the smaller, fragile man without mercy. "We need to go _now!_"

He puts up quite a fight for such a little thing – but not even that surprise can deter me, despite his protests.

"If it's not enough to trick him," he goes on in a wretched, scratchy voice, "what's the point—"

"It'll be enough!" I assure him – convinced myself, especially when I finally snatch the thing into my fingers and feel the sharp twinge of pain shooting up my arm.

"Careful!" Chris hisses, even as Rich catches him by the shoulders and tries to sit him up straight again (a failing endeavor, as the shoulders and torso immediately begin slouching in exhaustion). But Chris isn't a very cooperative patient. "It's infused with negative Dark Arts powers – even if it's not the real stone Gedgeon wants, it'll have effects—"

And his words prove true as the shooting pains morph into a burning sensation. I let out a hiss of my own and drop the stone into the crook of my covered arm, putting at least some artificial material between it and my skin.

Chris looks doubtfully up at me, clearly disapproving – but only says in a meek voice, having given up, "You'll have to put it in the box the real stone was found in. It'll seem more viable – _and _will be less dangerous itself."

I nod my understanding and bustle back out of the room to find the box he mentioned in the lab. But I can hear him from the office, still mumbling mournfully about needing more time, not getting enough energy into the false gem to be able to fool Gedgeon, about how foolish we are to rush into this – but then falling back into distraught babbling about what Noel could be going through at this moment, and that evil dimension of _time_ being so tricky and against us…

Well, I can't argue with him on that – but I don't want to think about what could be happening to Noel at the moment. My priority is to _stop_ it as soon as we can. Of _course_ we need more time – unfortunately, right now it's running out fast.


	10. Chapter 10

11

**Angel's Vigilante… "Agency" Chapter Ten **This is what happens when an amateur, lazy writer gets to a point where they're bored with their own story and just want to cut to the end. Sorry to those of you who were enjoying it, but I wanted to move on to other things (plus I had a bad bout of writer's block for ages). But in any case, here's the wrap-up. Maybe I'll get around to doing a second case eventually, but for now, this is it. Angel

Simon meets us on the front steps of the agency and acknowledges us with only a nod, though his eyes widen a bit at Julian's presence – he's startled, of course, that I would allow him on this mission. Not only does he _never_ go out on "active" duty, but with Noel's involvement…

But he refrains from asking questions.

It's obvious that Simon isn't lying when he says he's been tracking Gedgeon ever since we let him leave the agency this morning, as the poor guy looks absolutely ragged and sounds winded. But he doesn't seem the least bit tired even now, after running back and forth over the neighborhood until it became dark out and most people were in for the night. In fact, he's actually quite energetic as he immediately gestures for us to follow him and starts leading the way at a quick pace.

"Far as I can tell," he's saying as we move along, "he's been to one of the local medicine shops to get some supplies, then pretty much tracked each of us as we left without us noticing. I'm guessing he was waiting to get a sense of the person with the strongest lingering residue, so to speak, of his stone on them…"

He trails off, glancing slightly over his shoulder at Julian, but then puts on a stoic face – he must decide that, if Julian insisted on coming, he should be expected to accept any mention of things the least bit off-putting about Noel.

I manage to keep up with the vaguely smaller man as he talks, while the other three trail behind, trying to catch his rushed words. But Seeley can't help interrupting at this point to ask, "Um, maybe it would be faster if we took a _car?"_

Which seems logical even to me, but Simon shakes his head fiercely.

"It's not as far as you'd think, if you know the back alleys and short cuts, and a car he would be able to hear more easily. Anyway," he goes on, not accepting any protest the others are about to give, "I tracked him to this church…"

"Tracked him how?" Sendhil cuts in, obviously starting to grate on Simon's nerves – shouldn't they just listen and accept his words by now, as I do?

Losing his patience, he swings halfway to Sendhil while still walking, like a crab sidling along, and explains cryptically, "I can pick up on things most people wouldn't see or sense, and he's got a pretty strong aura to follow, especially after using a few potentially lethal spells in one day. I didn't see him attack Julian and Noel, but got there soon after, so I knew he'd used his powers and he was pretty easy to follow after that."

When he faces forward again to continue, I glance back over my shoulder. My brother still looks a bit perplexed, but has clearly taken the hint that Simon doesn't like being interrupted when he knows he's onto something. And Sendhil looks satisfied, if a bit embarrassed of having to be reminded of our earlier conversation about Simon's "secret" abilities. Julian, of course, barely hears or cares about any of it, as his mind is centered on only one thing; like he could give a damn about how or why Simon could track the guy, as long as his work leads us to Noel.

"I couldn't pick up any other traces," Simon's saying now, "after stopping at this church – an abandoned Human Christian church – so I stuck around for a bit to see if I could catch any other signs of him. Damn bugger nearly caught me once; I'm pretty sure he'd been in and out, checking if he'd been followed or discovered – and I think he may have sensed me. We _did_ have an earlier encounter, after all, so he may have recognized my presence, even if he didn't _see_ me and I'm only Human."

"Well," I add – not to interrupt, but just to enlighten him, so he doesn't appear miffed when I explain, "when Humans develop Utar powers, they start to also develop a stronger spiritual essence other Utars can sense more easily than a typical Human."

Simon nods, giving me the evil eye surreptitiously. "Good to know, thanks. Could've been more useful to know _earlier_ so I could've been a bit more _careful_, though," he adds with a slight edge to his voice. "Say, maybe five _years_ ago?"

But he doesn't dwell on that for too long before continuing, "I'd say I'm lucky he didn't come hunting me down, then; but really, I think he didn't do it because, if he's holding Noel as a hostage, he obviously needs some way to use that threat against us – to communicate somehow where he is without being too visible to, like, police or official authorities. He wants _us_, the people who have his stone, to know where he is, so he can, basically, get in touch with us subversively to give the ultimatum. What good is a hostage if no one knows about them, right? Otherwise it's just a kidnapping for the criminal's own perverse pleasure, and he _has_ a purpose behind taking Noel. Somehow he must have found out or sensed that I'm connected to you guys – hell, maybe he was staking out the building when I left this morning and saw me go – and if he knew I was the one who found him at the church, he knew the message would be relayed. Maybe he knew I was tracking him all along and was counting on that…"

But Seeley's still stuck on one particular point and asks my back, "Whaddya mean, Humans who developed Utar powers? Who – Are you sayin' Si's had some ability all this time and you never told me!'

I sigh and am about to snap at him to shut up and focus on the mission, but instead, Simon answers easily, if a tad gruffly, "Aye, I have _Eszene Tze_ powers, and I asked Angel not to say anything because I want people to trust me by my own word, nothing else."

Seeley blows a raspberry and points out, "It'd be more convincing if you just _told_ people – let's be honest: the word of a presumably powerless Human is much less easy to believe than someone with proven Utar powers…"

Here Simon stops abruptly to turn to him, eyes flashing, and he hisses, "And how many Earthling Humans do _you_ know who developed Utar powers on their own after only three years here? D'you think I wanna have to _prove_ myself to everyone I tell? It was only _after_ I'd demonstrated unlikely but positive results on presumably my own inherent abilities that Angel would have accepted my claim as a reasonable explanation. Most pure-blooded Utars would laugh in my face if I told them what I can see and do, even if I _tried_ to prove it to 'em after. D'ya get it now?"

Stunned at Simon's heated reaction, Seeley blinks once, then tilts his head to the side in consideration. "Okay… I can see your point. That _would_ get pretty annoying…"

"Good. Now can we concentrate on the _real_ situation here?"

With a quick nod from my brother, Simon whirls back around and starts walking again, leading us down various alleyways and over locked fences as he rattles on about Gedgeon. He, Seeley and I have no problem overtaking the obstacles, but Sendhil – the lab rat who barely knows a gym from a coffee shop, plus his medical case having to be handed around constantly (not only holding first aid supplies, but the box with Chris's bloodgem) – needs more help with all the climbing and physical exertion. Simon utters under his breath once that maybe the car _would_ have been faster, but still insists this way is better, safer, despite his own sudden doubt.

Surprisingly, Julian has no problems climbing and jumping around when necessary, so I assume he's running on pure adrenaline and determination by now, since he's not a field worker either.

"I didn't see him go inside," Simon continues once we reach a long stretch of an alley with no barriers, "and I didn't see Noel, but I saw Gedgeon around the property twice. Once from across the road when I was hiding behind a condemned house, and another time from the bushes alongside the church – no one's been taking much care of the property, so the vegetation has grown pretty rampant, making it easy to sneak around. I wanted to be sure about my hunch, so I got closer to see if I was right. That was when I saw him come up these concrete stairs. I'm pretty sure he saw or sensed me that time, but since he left me alone and didn't investigate, I figured he wanted me to stick around a while – to stay _alive_, that is – for me to bring the _important_ people there. When he went back down, I checked around the building and found another possible entrance and some signs of ductwork that could be useful, then came back to get you right away. I wanted until I was far enough away from the place to call, just in case he might have been able to pick up on any signals somehow, and the cell phone was working and a weaker signal would be harder to detect. Communicator signals are stronger, of course, to break through the atmosphere here when it gets too thick, so I didn't want to chance that, in case he might have the right equipment down there to pick up on it…"

"Plus," Sendhil adds before I can, "there's the fact that you still don't _have_ a replacement communicator yet."

Simon actually slows a bit in his pace, looking startled. "Oh… That's right… Well, good thing I didn't try that, then, eh?" he chuckles.

I roll my eyes – at least he doesn't seem to have been _trying_ to intentionally weasel out of getting a new one, despite his obvious disdain for the heavier equipment that helped injure him this morning. He genuinely forgot to get a new one from me.

Well, brilliance doesn't always equal sensible, I guess. And even if he seems like a rather scattered, "mangy bum" (Jen's words) Human who hangs out in ditches and alleys all the time, he _is_ brilliant to me – but not always _the_ most sensible guy.

Going up to a murderer right after the crime to _ask_ if the guy's just killed someone… I _still_ can't get over how insane that move was on his part. But, like he said, he had his reasons and that's how he works. I just hope that type of functioning doesn't get _him_ killed one of these days.

When we finally reach the area, Simon directs us to huddle by the same condemned house he'd previously used to hide behind, and he and I peek around the corner to see. He points out the proximity between where Gedgeon had surfaced from a steep cement staircase and the metal door at the opposite end of the church where he believes we may be able to get inside – with a little help from some brute _Utral_ strength, as it's locked. He also points to the grated square in the wall just beside the door, near the ground and only a fourth the height of the door itself – but still large enough for a person to fit. Obviously if there are problems with the inner functions of a building like this, one has to be able to get inside to fix it.

I estimate the size from a distance, but I'm pretty sure Seeley will be able to squirm his way inside there – maybe get a view of the structure from a different angle to better comprehend the layout of it.

After a few minutes of discussion, we hurry across the road and hide behind the overgrown bushes beside the door, Sendhil, Ju and Simon keeping a lookout as Seeley negotiates how to get the grate off without too much noise, and I work on opening the large heavy door under the same conditions. There are a few groans and squeals we all cringe over, but eventually I succeed at getting the metal slab off its hinges and set it to the side – just enough so we can get by.

To my surprise, instead of just ripping the grate out of the wall, Seeley's actually gone to the trouble of finding an instrument in Sendhil's medical bag to remove the rusted nails from all the corners, setting the metal aside in the bushes much more quietly than I achieved my task.

He smiles up at me impishly as he hands the instrument back to the doctor and, handing me an earpiece as he straps a small microphone around his head, he reminds me, "Stealth is just one of a sniper's specialties. I'm on frequency 2. If I find an opening, I'll let you know." And he disappears inside the hole before I can come up with a scathing retaliation. So instead, I adjust the tiny instrument to the correct frequency and shove it into my ear.

When the rest of us cautiously make our way inside, I'm startled to find the place in rather fine, untouched condition – no sprung leaks causing incessant dripping on the plain linoleum at our feet, no wreckage or crumbling holes in any of the painted concrete walls. This could be more of a detriment, actually – with constant background noise, however subtle, there's less chance of being heard. But in this absolute silence, we could draw attention by dropping a pin. But there doesn't seem to be any other option except to continue on.

We're simply standing on a landing before two sets of staircases, one going up and the other down. Simon already said Gedgeon had disappeared _down_ a flight of concrete steps, so of course our best bet is to head lower.

I allow Simon to lead the way, as he's the only one of us who can see in the dark, and though there are a few light switches along the way, I don't want to risk making our presences known too soon – even if, if we're on the right track, Gedgeon may be able to sense us coming. He still doesn't know from _where_.

Simon leads us down two more small flights of stairs, a landing between each to circle us down further and further to the church's basement. But then we reach another locked door, and even with his guiding words for eyes, I'm unable to remove it. I don't want to go barging in, as I've no idea what's on the other side.

Instead, again using some instruments from Sendhil's handy bag, Simon demonstrates his uncanny lock-picking ability, and opens the door after only a few seconds.

I would warn him never to come near my office again before calling first, but I don't want to use my voice.

Unfortunately, the door squeaks rudely as it opens, and we all tense up, waiting several moments in silence to listen for any reaction. Finally, I relax my scrunched eyes enough to see the short hallway in front of us, bending to the right at the end. A dim light is emanating from around that corner, and I can just about make out the rest of the faces surrounding me now. I whisper to Simon to return outside to keep a lookout, and once he's gone, I direct Sendhil to stay around the darker corner of the hallway and keep watch from the back – while Julian and I gather our strength (and courage) to turn the corner to see where that light is coming from – what awaits us in the basement of the church.

But just as I'm about to make my move, I stop – or, rather, I'm _stopped_ – by a hand on my arm. And it isn't Julian's, as he's on my other side. I spin in my place, stifling my own start of shock, to find Rich standing just beside me, a finger to his lips.

Before I can burst out with an infuriated yell as to why the hell he's here, his eyes grow wide, reminding me to stay quiet, and he whispers, "This wasn't my idea – but just go with it, eh?"

Rich

It really _wasn't_ my idea to go storming in to mess up Angel's plan. And we didn't really "storm in" as much as "sneak around." But one scrawny yet very headstrong _Nispar_ with fiercely _un-Nispar_ attitude and characteristics such as caring and worrying about other people can be quite difficult to control. So really, even if I hadn't gone with him, he would've done what he wanted.

Chris spent five minutes after the group's departure pacing irritably back and forth in my office, muttering to himself – and then to me – that it wasn't going to work, that the gem he'd made simply wasn't strong enough to con Gedgeon for even a few seconds. I tried to calm him down and coax him into believing otherwise, but he kept insisting that it wasn't just his gut feeling, but a _fact_. I tried getting him to sit down on the couch, but he was back to shoving me away physically – not out of a discomfort over being touched, but to make me stop hounding him.

Even in the short time I've known him, I can already tell that he's much different than the typical _Nispar_. In more ways than I thought before. Not only does he _like_ people and _try_ to connect with certain ones, but for someone of his ancestry, he's basically an _extrovert_ – very rare indeed, and hard to believe if one isn't as knowledgeable of _Nispars_ as I am. So it's difficult to emphasize _how_ Chris is actually "outgoing," compared to how "normal" people see him and understand the concept of "outgoing." But yes, even though he exudes an air of being withdrawn and shy, that's nothing, considering the blatant hatred most _Nispars_ feel for any kind of interaction with others not like themselves. To them, he would probably be seen as an outcast, too dangerous and wild, consorting with so many people who _aren't_ of his heritage – and some being Humans or Halfies, well, that would just be a blasphemy!

So for him to get this worked up over _anyone_ else, it truly _means_ something. About him, about the situation, and about his belief that things could go terribly wrong if he doesn't step in. _Nispars_ are known to hide away from the rest of the world in their own little groups, like their massive migration to Yellus in Ysatnaf centuries ago when Humans first came to Enigami. They hate getting involved in others' affairs and were terrified of the "aliens." So Chris's need to interfere would be categorized as "unnecessary" by his own kind. Maybe even "appalling."

Then again, except for the first decade or so of his life, he's spent most of that other time around others who aren't _Nispars_ – even Utars. To him, _not_ being involved was maddening, and his utters about Angel not believing or listening to him were downright insulted. That just made him all the more stubborn to do something about it.

Shoving me back into the couch with more force than I thought he could give without aid of any of his "magical" powers, he made me let go of him and stalked out into the lab. Within a few moments, he reappeared stuffing something into a small satchel by his waist, the strap around his opposing, covered shoulder, and looked down at me expectantly.

"I'm going. You don't have to."

I got to my feet immediately and argued, "_Going?_ You don't even know _where…_"

But he was already marching out of the room, hissing, "I couldn't leave before because Angel wouldn't let us, leaving it to Simon, but I _can_ trace a lingering residue left by someone after they've used Light or Dark Arts spells. If we start from Noel and Julian's place, I might be able to track Gedgeon's trail."

As I followed after him, wondering how he was going to get by everyone else who'd been left behind, I asked, "Why didn't you tell Angel you could do that before!"

"Because he _had_ Simon on it. They think it's a secret, and to most it is, but I know what Simon can do, so I trust his word and abilities as much as Angel does. Angel knows – he just didn't want an entourage tracking the bastard because he's cautious and knows Simon's a better spy than me in field work. Plus Simon prefers working alone, he can concentrate better. But now that this is needed…"

_"What's_ needed?" I persisted, glancing over when Chris merely waved a hand at the others as he walked straight past them through the med room – and none of them noticed him heading for the door. Apparently none of them saw _me_ either, as I continued following him.

He waited until we were safely on the other side of the door to the stairwell to turn to me, and he opened the satchel to reveal the true bloodgem, still gleaming inside the darkness of the bag.

I balked at him, nearly shrieking (but managing to keep it to a panicked hiss), "What the hell are you doing with that! You can't just traipse into the place – if we even _find_ it – and wave that thing in Gedgeon's face—"

He closed the bag and narrowed his eyes at me. "At Noel's expense? Just watch me. Are you coming or what?"

I hesitated for a moment, heaving a breath of despondency, and he started up the stairs.

"Fine. I'll walk to Noel's alone then…"

"No," I groaned, dragging myself after him finally. "I'll drive you there. It'll be faster."

He paused, and in the dim light of the staircase, he turned back to me – not really smiling, but the look in his eyes, as much as I could see of them, was immeasurably grateful.

I don't share any of this with Angel as he gawks at my presence, as too much talking will definitely defeat the purpose of caution and safety, but I try to convey to him silently, with my eyes, to trust me – even if it took _me _a while to trust _Chris_.

We'd taken the car to Noel's, where we knew Gedgeon had attacked him and Julian with Dark Arts spells, and from there he'd traced the invisible (to my eyes) trail through the alleyways and side streets on foot to come to the abandoned church. Chris and I easily found the lopsided open door and uncovered entrance to the ductwork. Chris instructed me to go through the door and find Angel, while he disappeared inside the vent, saying Seeley would most likely have gone in through there. He must have known about Seeley's history as well, because he specifically said, "A sniper needs to be more hidden than the group blatantly coming to confront the villain."

I ran into Simon on the way down the steps – just a random guess on my end – and though he was startled, he knew I was up to something; he'd worked with me for a month beforehand, so he had to know I was acting with good intentions. So he directed me to where Angel, Ju and Sendhil had gone before returning to his lookout upstairs.

And now, Angel struggles with this turn of events, and finally sighs, "Okay – Sendhil stays back here in case we need medical treatment; Rich comes with me because… well…"

He eyes me up skeptically and finally settles on, "Maybe you can be a better _talker _to keep Gedgeon in line…" He looks away, as if embarrassed, and confesses, "Even I can tend to lose my head sometimes…" He turns back and stares at Julian. "And you're coming with us because…"

"I need to," Ju grunts, simply and stubbornly.

Angel shrugs as a sign of weary acceptance. I decide not to inform him of Chris's presence – he might just go into a _complete_ tailspin if he finds out too much.

Hell, even _I_ wouldn't know how to explain it, really. I still have no idea what Chris is up to, but as I say to Angel, I'm just going along with it.

Noel

I can't tell how long I've been like this. Every time I start to feel like I'm coming round again, the sneaky bastard fills me back up with that disgusting shit. And I'm outta the loop once more.

Eventually he comes back from one of his mysterious disappearing acts, this time all mad smiles and twitching limbs. Must sense something outside, though I can't, since my bloody senses are all fucked at the moment.

"Seems like your friends have finally found you," he hisses as he starts pulling and prodding at me. "It took them long enough, didn't it?"

I vaguely wonder what day it is, how long it _has_ been, but all I can do is groan wordlessly as he fixes my clothes and tries to sit me up.

"I'd thought an agency like yours would be able to track me in no time," he goes on as he unties my bound wrist – only to flip me onto my belly to retie both my arms behind my back. "But four hours…"

Four hours! Damn! To him it must seem like forever, waiting for his shitty gem – but for me, I'm impressed they found this place in _only_ four hours. Simon must've been put on the case. That's actually pretty good, given what little clues they had to work with. And especially considering it feels like I've been here for days…

"Come on, my messy beauty," he croons as he sits me up and rakes his hands through my ratted hair. My eyes are barely open, my arms sore, my body numb… but I don't even care what a horrid sight I must look, and that's saying something, coming from me.

"Have to make you look presentable for your dear old friends, don't I?" he teases, then lets me flop back onto the mat when we both hear the clacking of shoes on the tiled floor out in front of the stage.

"Gedgeon!" comes Angel's voice, and the bastard jerks to his feet, snarling at the open door to my "cell."

"Gedgeon Tr'ravast! We know you're here! We know what you want! Come out and get your damn gem before we destroy it!"

Snickering with the sloppy delight of a retarded child, he hunches toward the doorway, and a painful queasiness starts churning in my stomach.

"You can't destroy it!" he calls back, still not leaving the room. "You don't know how!"

Angel's voice is closer now, but the footsteps have ceased. I listen as closely as I can, shutting my eyes to try and concentrate better – but that only makes me dizzier, my belly churning faster, so I open them again and gasp for breath.

"We have our ways," Angel says, his voice softer now that he's close to the stage, but just as commanding as before. "We have people who can figure out how—"

"But you can't," Gedgeon insists, finally stepping out onto the stage to present himself. I hear the echoes of their conversation through the haze of my drugged mind and the strange acoustics of the large room. "How will you get _your_ prize if you destroy what is rightfully _mine?"_

"Where is he?" Angel growls, starting to sound angry now.

To my surprise, another voice cuts in, much calmer and more rational – Rich. He's here too?

"Just let us see him," he bargains with Gedgeon. "We'll show you the gem, you show us our friend, and then we'll make a trade. Does that sound fair to you?"

I can practically _feel_ the _Tifsim's_ morbid laughter, that deep, patronising, gutteral sound that spat at me so many times these last four hours…

"You think it's that easy, do you? That I'll just give him back without a fight?"

"There's no need for a fight," Rich reminds him. "You'll have your bloodgem—"

"Well, maybe I've grown to _like_ the little tart," Gedgeon sneers, and I cringe at the thought. "Maybe I'll just take my gem _and_ the boy and run away with both of them—"

There's the sound of a slight scuffle outside, but it must not involve Gedgeon, because he merely laughs.

"I know you," he says deliberately as the ruckus dies down. "You're tougher than you look, _Human_," and he makes the word sound filthy, like he can't stand saying it.

I wonder what Human he's talking about, but he must mean Rich – though how he could _"know"_ him already is a mystery to me. Maybe they met on the street last month without realising who the other was or something. Beats me. And trying to think things through clearly only makes me feel sicker, so I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth harshly before gasping again – this is an utterly annoying physical position to be in, and now with the drug starting to wear off again, the pain is returning with a vengeance. I almost wish he _would_ come back to give me another hit, just so I won't have to feel the shock of the comedown.

This is probably how most addicts get to be in their desperate positions – they just don't want to feel the sickness when the drug's taken away. Good gods… After only four hours, I think I know what it feels like to be _addicted_ to something. That, as much as anything else, just makes me feel even more pathetic. Wallowing in my self-pity, I miss some of the conversation, but eventually I come back to reality to try and hear more.

"So all you have to do," Rich is going on in his logical voice, "is bring him out here. Let us see he's okay. And then we'll give you the gem."

There's a long silence, and I nearly gag on the bile trying to spew out of me. The sound of it must prove to the others that I'm closeby, because Rich starts pleading instead, saying they _need_ to see me, and they know he has me hidden somewhere…

That's when the bastard comes back. He doesn't give me another shot, but grabs my bound hands and yanks me up off the mat. The motion alone causes my strength and will to crumble and I end up puking on the floor as he sways my body upright. None of it gets on me, but the sight of it only makes me feel like I'm gonna do it again…

His arm round my waist now, my head flops back against his shoulder to look away from the vomit, and I take in some deep breaths through my gaping mouth, tears stinging my eyes. I nearly _ask_ him, _beg_ him, to give me more, just so I won't feel sick from this immediately withdrawal, but when my slurred noises come out, they sound like gibberish even to my own ears. And when he _does_ reach down to the table, he doesn't touch the syringe – he picks up that damn dagger instead, and I whimper pathetically.

I'm not afraid of the knife; I'm suffering more from this sudden bout of sickness overwhelming me.

"Come on, love," he whispers in my ear. "Time to go see your friends."

Here's the ending I don't feel like writing out completely:

Seeley finds a vent in the ductwork overlooking the room across from the stage and tells Angel the layout and where Gedgeon is. Angel decides the best approach is to walk right in to "talk" to Gedgeon, having Rich hold the box with Chris's bloodgem. Gedgeon pulls Noel onto the stage – looks a mess – and taunts them for a bit, riles up Ju – Noel says he thought Ju was dead and starts to cry. Chris finds Seeley and takes two of his bullets, infusing them with strong Light Arts powers, and directs him to shoot at the weakest point in the Dart Arts veil Gedgeon's using for protection, and then wait for his "signal" to shoot the other one, then disappears before Seeley can ask "shoot at what?"

Seeley turns back to the scene as the trade is about to take place. Gedgeon drops veil to make trade, but realizes it's a fake right away, and pulls Noel back to the stage before Ju can get an arm around him. He puts the veil up again and stabs Noel in the back before tossing him to the side. Julian rushes the stage in a rage – Seeley shoots the veil and destroys it just as Ju gets there, and he attacks a very startled Gedgeon. Rich and Angel try to catch up and run to Noel, calling to Sendhil to come help.

Sendhil's about to move when he's shocked to find Chris right beside him. He's going to yell at him but Chris seems to be in a trance, and Sendhil notices he's holding the real bloodgem. He doesn't know what's going on but responds to the other two shouting for him, running out to help Noel.

Seeley reloads the other "special" bullet and waits, even with Angel hollering at him to shoot – but Ju's in his way of Gedgeon. While Sen and Angel tend to Noel, Rich tries to get Ju away before Gedgeon gets his strength to start fighting back. When he does and Gedgeon's ready to attack, Chris yells his name and catches his attention. He's in the middle of the room, holding the stone up for Gedgeon to see, saying "I have what you really want." Gedgeon starts to advance on him instead of Ju and Rich, and Rich is about to follow, seeing Chris is in danger, but he's cut off when Chris shouts "Now!" and Seeley shoots the infused bullet to shatter the boodgem over Chris's head. Gedgeon's mortified by the destruction of the stone (he didn't know Chris was a Master of both Arts) and tries to attack Chris. Rich panics but then Seeley uses a "real" bullet and shoots Gedgeon right in the head.

Chris turns to Seeley and nods, then goes to stage where the others are healing Noel – Ju holding him, Sendhil healing him with his powers, but it's too draining and he needs help so Angel offers his energy as well. Sendhil notices Chris coming closer and warns him to back off – he'll absorb Noel's pain if he gets too close. Rich notices Chris has a cut on his arm and tries to clean it up, but Chris is too concerned about Noel to pay attention, brushing him off and saying it was probably from one of the shards. Rich leads him away, but Chris tells him to bring Simon downstairs – he needs his "eyes" to help find all the pieces of the stone to collect, but no one else can get near them but Chris. Rich finds Si and Seeley outside and brings them down the side staircase – Si and Rich help Chris collect stone pieces, Seeley goes to where Noel is – Sendhil is too drained to do much, but has saved Noel's lethal wounds – needs help getting him back to med room at the agency to start detox. Ju and Seeley take Noel, Angel helps Sendhil, the others stay behind to "clean up" and will return to agency when they're done – leaving the body for the police to find, from an "anonymous tip."

Back at the agency, Sendhil recuperates while tending to Noel, and Ju refuses to leave Noel's side. Others have been sent home. Sendhil gives Noel meds to ease the pain of withdrawal, but it'll be a long night, and Sendhil has to keep him restrained "just in case," but gives in and arranges it so Ju can sleep in bed beside him. Noel has some seizures and bad times but Ju holds him through all of it.

In the Artifacts room, it starts by Rich coming to Chris with the box holding Chris's bloodgem. "I held onto it for you. Thought you might want to keep it for… I dunno… to pass on to someone special one day."

"…You can keep it."

Chris and Rich have an intense conversation about why he is how he is – Chris tells him that he'd been the one to destroy the Dark Arts Master years before after he'd been caught by Ginko abusing Chris for being a nuisance. Ginko and Sendhil got Chris away from him and Sendhil tried to protect him while the other 3 fought him. The guy tried to kill Ginko and the others, and Chris got rid of him when he saw Ginko get injured. That was why Ginko and Sendhil needed to cover for him cos they didn't know what kind of danger Chris would be in for killing the leader of the mission.

They talk about how unique Chris is, Chris says he _wants_to feel all those things that are "genetically" kept just under the surface for his race. Rich assures him he'll help him in doing this.


End file.
